


You Always Make Me Smile

by champagneboyband



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Celebrity Chef AU, Chef AU, Chef Harry, Fluff, Kink Exploration, Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, Niall is Harry's sous chef, Pain Kink, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Producer Louis, Reality TV, Spanking, Zayn and Liam are assistant producers, giggly sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3782071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagneboyband/pseuds/champagneboyband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrity Chef AU</p><p>When Cowell Productions acquires an American branch, Louis is saddled with producing <i>Eat It and Weep</i>, the Food Network's new <i>Kitchen Nightmares</i> inspired reality show. He's nervous when he finds out that he's going to be working with Harry Styles, the world's youngest Michelin-starred chef and an absolutely notorious terror in the kitchen. But it quickly becomes obvious that things will prove difficult for an entirely different reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this fic came out of absolutely nowhere, and it was originally going to just be a one shot, but then I was suddenly like....20,000 words into it and realized it wanted to be a lot longer. So now it's plotted for 30 chapters and it's turning into a monster fic.
> 
> I feel like this chapter feels kind of rushed, but it sort of sets up stuff that's coming later down the line, so it's more of a prologue than an actual chapter? The real action starts in chapter two, I promise.
> 
> Title from [You Always Make Me Smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grnkCPxdTdU) by Kyle Andrews :))
> 
> Also, I'm learning about what goes into producing reality TV? I didn't know a damn thing about it until I started research for this fic, but WOW there's a lot that goes into it. If you see something that seems wrong or that you have questions about – or better yet, if you work in reality TV – feel free to drop me a line!
> 
> That said, I _do_ like to believe that my representations of the restaurant world itself are pretty accurate? There are a lot of chefs in my family, so I've spent a lot of time in and around restaurant kitchens, and I know how they're supposed to work (and, more importantly, how they're NOT supposed to work). There's not a whole lot of it in this chapter, because, like I said, this is more of a prologue, but there will obviously be more as the fic goes on..
> 
> Also I watch an unhealthy amount of Kitchen Nightmares, so there's that. 
> 
> **Disclaimer** – This contains fictional representations of real people in situations which never occurred in real life. None of the events present in this story are true, and I receive no financial benefit from writing this. Any mentions of real places, businesses, people, etc are fictionalized and **should not** be taken as literal, true-to-life representations. This story is written for no profit whatsoever and is just meant to be FUN. So basically...don't sue me. 
> 
> **this should go without saying, but this is a work of my own creation. do not repost this work.**
> 
> sorry for rambling so much :/

Louis' leg bounced up and down under the table as he waited for the Skype window to bubble through its connection. He shuffled the papers around on his desk with nervous hands, determined not to fuck this up.

Simon had had enough faith in him to carry him over into his acquisition of Sally Road, a production company who did reality TV for major American networks, and this show had fallen into his lap almost immediately. Billed as a buddy cop version of _Kitchen Nightmares_ with a younger twist and demographic, _Eat It and Weep_ was poised to become the Food Network's new ratings powerhouse and, hopefully, the thing that brought their median viewership age down from a sleepy 43 to something in the 25-30 range.

The window on his computer screen bubbled again, and Simon's face appeared. Louis swallowed.

“Louis!” Simon called cheerfully. There was sunlight streaming in through the big windows behind him, and Louis glanced out his own office window at the dreary clouded sky of London in springtime. “I trust you're getting on well with the transition? How are things back home?”

Louis pressed his lips together into a thin line. He'd emailed Simon an update not two hours ago, but the older man always wanted to discuss things face-to-face, as if he couldn't quite connect email with the physical person.

“It's good, yeah,” he said, crossing his ankles under his desk. “The Americans aren't exactly loving the weather here, but everyone's getting on alright. How's LA?”

Simon just shook his head, making a face at the camera. “Too bloody sunny, if I'm honest with you,” he said, although he looked suspiciously brown for someone who hated the heat so much. “And they eat far too much kale here. Can't wait to get back to fog and curries.”

“The café down the block started serving kale in their sandwiches last week,” Louis told him. “The good place with the spicy chips? They replaced their whole lettuce stock with raw kale. Maybe they heard about the influx of Californians into the office.”

“God help us, the Americans are invading,” Simon said gravely, shaking his head, and Louis had to hold back a laugh. “Although maybe I'm to blame. I was the one who dragged them over, after all.”

The merger of the two companies had brought an influx of Americans into Simon's London office. While Simon was in LA smoothing things over as the new boss with the people who had remained in California, he'd left Louis in charge of easing the transition for all the employees who'd been carried over from the original LA staff. Among them was Marcia, a woman who pretended – Louis was _sure_ she was pretending – that she couldn't understand his or Zayn's thick Yorkshire accents, and a bloke called Brad who was far too loud and friendly, always slapping him on the back and cracking jokes at inopportune moments. There had been a few bumps in the road so far, but Louis wasn't about to tell Simon that.

“Things are going great,” he said, only lying a bit. “Nothing to worry about on this end.”

“Good, good,” Simon said, nodding to himself. “That's what I like to hear, Tomlinson. Keeping everyone on track.” He took a sip of something that looked suspiciously like scotch, and Louis glanced at the clock in the corner of his computer screen. Barely 9AM in LA. “Now, enough small talk,” Simon continued, setting down his drink and clapping his hands together. “Down to business. Yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Louis said, putting on a professional sheen of assured confidence even as his stomach twisted.

Simon tapped something into his computer, and Louis' screen split in half, waiting for the third member to conference in. Louis tapped out an anxious rhythm on his desk with the end of his pen, his fingers wired with nerves, not quite knowing what to expect.

Harry Styles was not only the youngest Michelin-starred chef in the world, but he was also an absolutely notorious terror in the kitchen. Louis hadn't actually met him yet, but his image was absolutely central to the direction the network wanted them to go in with _Eat It and Weep_. He'd heard that Chef Styles was much more laid-back in his day-to-day life – he'd have to be, or he'd've had a coronary by now, probably – but Louis was still a bit nervous and unsure of what to expect. Like, sure, it had been fun watching him scream his head off at chefs twice his age when he was Ramsay's assistant on _Hell's Kitchen_ two years ago, but actually _working_ with the guy? What if he actually was a complete lunatic?

The window finally connected, and the image jostled for a moment as someone slid into the frame. Bright green eyes connected with his, and Louis felt all the breath fly out of his chest in a rush.

“I'm here, sorry, sorry!” Harry said hurriedly, pulling a chair closer to his desk.

He was smiling, dimples popping out on his cheeks – Louis didn't think he'd ever seen the guy smile before, at least not on telly – and his eyes flashed as he tugged at the top buttons of his chef's jacket, loosening the collar. He was sweating slightly, his curly hair cascading down over a thick strip of purple and red silk. Behind him was a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked a bustling kitchen a floor below, and Louis watched as a plume of fire shot up from a skillet in the background.

“Got caught up in the lunch service,” he explained, glancing over his shoulder. He finished unbuttoning the top of his jacket and cracked his neck from side to side. “I'm not at the New York location often enough, so I try to be in the kitchen as much as possible when I'm here.”

“Nothing wrong with working hard,” Simon said. The two of them had worked together on a special for the BBC a few years back, and Simon apparently counted Harry as one of the few people worthy of receiving a Simon Cowell™ smile. “I just had dinner at your place out here in LA last night.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asked, scratching a hand back through his curls, pushing at his headscarf to readjust it in his hair. “How was it? Edible, hopefully.”

“Incredible as ever,” Simon said, winking into the Skype window. “That chef you've got out there, what's his name? He really knows how to make a great ossobucco.”

“James Dunway?” Harry said. “Yeah, he's brilliant. I pulled him off Boulud's brigade and set him up out there as my stand-in. Glad to hear he's living up to it.” He smiled briefly, his eyes flickering over to Louis. Louis' heart jumped in his chest. “Sorry, I'm being terribly rude right now. I'm Harry Styles.” He offered a small wave at the camera.

“Of course, apologies, you haven't met yet,” Simon said, tipping his drink at his webcam. “Harry, this is Louis Tomlinson, my associate producer. He'll be running the day-to-day once filming starts, so he's the one you're going to want to buddy up with. You two will be spending quite a lot of time together over the next six months.”

“Hi,” Louis said dumbly. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I mean...it's nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Harry said with an amused grin. He held up his hands in front of him. “Don't worry, I don't bite. I'm a nice guy, I promise.” Simon cleared his throat pointedly, and Harry's focus shifted back over to his side of the screen. He laughed, light and bright, and Louis felt a different sort of twist in his stomach. “Come on, you're killing me, man.”

“I told him that you're perfectly charming in real life, but he didn't believe me,” Simon said defensively, raising his eyebrows. He winked at Louis. “I'm just happy you're in a good mood today so you didn't prove me wrong.”

Louis allowed some of the tension to leave his back, releasing a slow breath, and he rolled his shoulders.

“I watched some of your old footage when I was given this project,” Louis admitted, offering a small smile. “You're a bit intimidating, if I'm honest. I can't even make a pot noodle taste decent.”

Harry's eyes fluttered shut, his smile carving deep dimples into his cheeks. “That's because it's a pot noodle.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “I don't even think I could make it taste decent.”

“And that's saying something,” Simon interjected fondly. He took another sip of his scotch, settling back in his seat. “Now, I know we're all busy people. I just wanted to bring you two together, make sure you've met on good terms.”

“Make sure no one's afraid of me,” Harry added, grinning at Louis through the screen.

“Yes, exactly. _And_ ,” Simon leaned forward in his seat, “get the ball rolling on what will hopefully be a successful venture for us all.”

—

Louis signed off the Skype call nearly an hour later, closing his laptop and sitting back in his desk chair to scrub his hands over his face. While it was a bit of a relief to know that the chef he was going to be working with wasn't actually a complete monster and was, in fact, an all-around pretty good guy from what Louis could tell, the meeting had left him with stacks of work to get done over the next few weeks before filming began in New York.

Because the project was one that had been carried over from Sally Road, jumping into it headfirst was starting to feel daunting and at least a bit haphazard. The restaurants they'd be working with had already been chosen, and there was at least a semi-formed travel schedule worked out for the five-month filming period, but there were all sorts of logistical nightmares that he had to fix before things really began moving in just a few weeks' time.

A knock at Louis' office door brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find Zayn standing there looking tanned and smiley.

“Hey, man, didn't expect to see you in today,” Louis said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “How was Dubai?”

Zayn had been on-location for the past week, shooting footage for a Travel Channel special – fancy restaurants, swank hotels, posh beaches – and he'd just gotten back this afternoon. Louis hadn't expected to see him in the office until Monday.

“It was good, yeah,” Zayn said. He ran a hand through his blown-back hair as he crossed the room to collapse into one of the chairs in front of Louis' desk. “You should see some of the buildings in that city. It's like if some sci-fi set designer got to turn his CGI wet dream into reality.”

Louis laughed as he unplugged his laptop and slid it into his bag, ready to get out of the office for the day and unwind a bit before he had to kick everything into high gear after the weekend. “So what's up?” he asked, glancing at Zayn as he stood from his desk. “You know you didn't have to come in today, right?”

“I wanted to make sure to drop the paperwork off before Brad got a chance to fuck it up after the weekend,” Zayn said in an undertone, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was lingering in the hallway outside. “Don't trust him as far as I can throw him, to be honest with you. He's too friendly, bro, it's creepy, I'm telling you. He was a nightmare to work with in Dubai. _Please_ tell me he's not coming along for that restaurant show we're doing in America.”

“Just you, me, and Liam as of right now,” Louis said as they left his office and started off down the hall. “I don't want Brad on it either, and Simon's pretty much letting me pick my team for this, so I think it'll just be the three of us plus the camera guys.”

“And the monster chef with the Irish guy,” Zayn added. “Don't forget about them.”

Louis shrugged as they stepped onto the lift, pulling his phone from his pocket. “He's not actually that bad,” he said, tapping out a text. “I met him today, he was nice.”

“So he didn't punch a dish boy, then?” Zayn asked, raising an eyebrow. “That's actually kind of disappointing. I was sort of hoping he'd be scary.”

Louis laughed as they stepped off the lift on the ground floor. “What, you _wanted_ to be screamed at?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that like a kink or...”

“Fuck off.” Zayn grinned, shaking his head. “Did you meet the sous chef too? The Irish guy?”

“Niall Horan? No, he wasn't around. Or, actually, I think he was in the kitchen working. They were in the middle of a lunch service when Harry Skyped in,” Louis said.

“Oh, he's _Harry_ now, is he?” Zayn asked, raising an eyebrow. “He's nice and he's Harry, that's interesting.”

Louis just rolled his eyes as they pushed their way into the street. “Shut up,” Louis scoffed. “So I think he's fit, sort of. And he _was_ nice, and his name's Harry. Doesn't mean anything. It was a business meeting, for God's sake. Simon was there and all.”

“ _Fit, sort of_?” Zayn asked. “Mate, you were practically drooling that time he was on Iron Chef, and don't even try to tell me it was because his lamb shank looked so good.”

“To be fair, it _did_ look really good,” Louis grinned, and Zayn laughed as Louis waved him off, parting ways with a promise to meet up later for drinks.

He slid his sunglasses onto his face as he made his way down the street, smiling to himself and ducking his head, and Zayn wasn't there to see the slightly pink tinge that spread across his cheeks as he rounded the corner to head home.

—

Louis' phone buzzed across the table later that night with an unfamiliar number just as Liam brought over their fourth round of drinks, setting them down with unsteady hands and sloshing beer over the side of a pint glass.

“Oi, watch it!” Louis called, rescuing his phone from the spreading liquid just as the puddle was about to reach it. He looked down at the screen, still lit up with the unknown number. “Who's that calling?”

“How would we know?” Zayn laughed, leaning back in his seat with a fresh vodka sour in hand. “Answer it and find out for yourself.”

Louis rolled his eyes at Zayn but slid his thumb across the screen to pick up the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Louis?” a deep voice asked from the other end of the line. “This is Harry. Erm, Styles? Sorry if this is weird, but I got your number from Simon earlier today.”

Louis' eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat, trying to steady himself through a haze of a bit too much tequila. Not a good look for business calls. He ran a hand back through his hair, Zayn and Liam throwing him curious looks.

“Yeah, erm...yeah, sorry, it's loud in here,” he said in a rush. “Hold on two seconds?”

He rose from their booth, motioning toward the door to tell the other two he was stepping outside. _Work_ , he mouthed at them in explanation as he made a quick exit. He made his way through the pub and stepped out into the street, the cool night breeze a welcome freshness after the noisy heat of the bar.

“Sorry about that,” he said into the phone, trying to keep his voice even and professional. He leaned against the wall to steady himself on his feet. “I'm just out with some friends. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything,” Harry said quickly. Louis could hear clattering in the background, and Harry shouted something in a language which Louis was half-sure sounded like Spanish. “Hold on, sorry, shit!” His voice was suddenly further away, like he'd pulled the phone away from his mouth or set it down. “Come on, Javier, are you fucking kidding me? What did I call? I called med-rare and this is a piece of fucking shoe leather. Now we have to re-fire the entire table because you can't cook a fucking med-rare fillet! My _mum_ knows how to cook a fucking med-rare steak, you massive fucking twat.”

Louis felt a rush go through him, and he laughed behind his hand, angling the phone's receiver away from his face to keep the noise from travelling through. There was another clatter, and Louis pressed his lips together quickly, trying to keep his laughter in.

“Sorry, I've got you on my headphones now, but I'm up to my elbows in shit over here, and fucking Javier...” Harry's voice trailed off, and there was a loud crash in the background. Louis' chest felt tight, and he let out a snort into the phone which he immediately tried to tamp off by covering his mouth with his hand. “Are you _laughing_?”

If Louis had been more sober, he probably would have felt cold panic rush through his chest just then, but instead, he let his laugh loose, startling the older woman who was walking by with her dog.

“I'm sorry, fuck – ” he cut himself off with another laugh as the woman threw him a suspicious glare and hurried her steps. “Shit, sorry, this is so unprofessional. Fuck, okay, sorry, I'm...I've been drinking, I'm honestly normally a lot better than this, it's just – ”

But Harry was laughing now, too, and Louis felt his racing heart slow and calm just enough that he was able to catch his breath. He pushed off the wall of the pub, kicking a pebble in the street as another giggle bubbled up from his chest, no effort to hold it in this time.

“Sorry,” he said again, more quietly. He laughed again, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just...Javier and his shoe-leather steak.”

“Fucking Javier,” Harry agreed, and Louis could hear the smile in his voice. “It's okay, I'm not stodgy or anything. You don't have to worry about being professional.” He paused, and Louis felt himself relax. “What time is it in London right now? Sorry, I kind of lose track of time during service sometimes.”

Louis glanced down at his watch, staring at it for a moment to let his eyes focus on its hands. Maybe more than a bit too much tequila.

“Almost one-thirty,” he answered. He squinted at his watch again. “Or seven-thirty? Fuck, I hate these posh watches with no numbers on. No, fuck, wait, that doesn't make sense, no, it's definitely one-thirty.” He shook his head, the motion making him a little dizzy. “Sorry, I've passed buzzed and skipped straight into some weird place where I can't even tell time anymore.”

Harry's answering laugh was soft and almost fond, and Louis felt his smile stretch to his eyes, a warm buzz blooming in his chest. He ran a hand back through his hair, a gush of air fanning out over his lips as he walked a few paces down the pavement to sink onto a bench. He listened to the bustling sounds of the kitchen operating on Harry's end of the line, wondering absently whether Javier had managed to fix his shoe-leather steak.

“I'm sure you didn't call just to listen to me make an arse of myself,” Louis said after a long moment, sliding down in his seat on the bench. “Can I... Did you need something?”

There was another beat of silence, and Harry gave another quiet laugh. “Sorry, yeah, I actually, well, I was sort of wondering what you're doing tomorrow night?” he said. He cleared his throat.

Louis' brow furrowed in confusion, cocking his head to the side. “Why?” he blurted. He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“We need to stop apologising to each other,” Harry said. There was a shout in the background, and Harry laughed. “Not you, Niall, you can bet on your fucking life that you're still apologising for that disgrace of a risotto you gave me earlier.”

Louis smiled to himself, kicking his feet out in front of him.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, clearing his throat. “Erm, anyway, I sort of wanted to know if you're free tomorrow night because I'm flying back in the morning and...shit, sorry, I'm crap at this. Basically, do you maybe want to grab dinner tomorrow night? Or something. As a businessy thing, obviously, so we can actually meet for real before things get going. And if not, that's totally fine, but – ”

“I'd love to,” Louis said, cutting him off. He sat up straighter in his seat, swallowing hard. “As a...businessy thing.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, and his voice sounded almost shy.

Louis smiled to himself, scratching at the leg of his jeans with one finger. “Yeah, I would,” he said. “I think...yeah, that sounds good. We should, y'know, meet. As colleagues.”

“Good, good,” Harry said, and Louis suddenly remembered the dimples that had popped out on his cheeks earlier that day. He wondered if they were there now, and then he wondered why he was wondering that. “I won't take you to my own restaurant, I promise. I'm not that much of a narcissist.”

“I was wondering that, actually,” Louis said. He picked at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt and smacked his lips together, trying to get some of the feeling back into them.

“What do you like? I know chefs all over town, so I can get us in anywhere, probably,” he said. “Unless, sorry, I do this thing where I get weird and controlling about food. Some people think it's annoying.”

“We were supposed to stop apologising to each other, weren't we?” Louis smiled and took a deep breath in, leaning forward on the bench and propping his elbows on his knees. “I dunno, something spicy. Surprise me. And it better be good.”

“No pressure, then,” Harry laughed.

“Well, I've got to make sure you've got a good eye, _chef_ ,” Louis said teasingly. “For business reasons, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

They were quiet for another moment, Louis listening to the kitchen noises floating over the line, Harry shouting out the occasional order to someone and banging pans around. The door to the pub opened as a few people spilled out onto the street, and Louis inhaled sharply, sitting up straight on the bench.

“I should probably go,” he said. “My mates are going to start thinking I've been kidnapped or something.”

Harry let out a small laugh, then cut himself off abruptly. “You're trashing my reputation over here,” he said, his voice gone low and amused. “I'm supposed to be the big scary boss, but you keep making me laugh. It's terrible for business, honestly.”

“You can bill me for the losses,” Louis said, not even bothering to hide the smile in his voice anymore as he stood from his bench. “Though I won't take the blame for Javier's shoe-leather steak. Fuck that guy.”

“Eh, he just needed a kick up the arse,” Harry laughed. “I'll buy him a pint after service is through, we'll be fine.”

“Lucky for Javier,” Louis mumbled, fixing his fringe in his reflection on the pub's window. His eyes went slightly wide when he realised he'd said that out loud, but Harry just let out another low laugh.

“I'll buy you one tomorrow if that makes you feel any better,” Harry said. “Two, even, since you didn't ruin a twenty dollar fillet. But I'll let you get back to your night, sorry for rambling on so much.”

“Right, okay,” Louis said, turning away from the window. “I'll hold you to those two pints though, just so you know.”

“I'll see you tomorrow, then,” Harry said in a quiet voice. “Have fun with your friends.”

“Have fun with Javier.” Louis let a smirk spread across his face, his eyes flashing in the streetlight and his stomach fluttering. “See you tomorrow.”

He hung up his phone and gave himself a moment to breathe, watching a couple stumble down the street away from him with their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. His chest felt light, and his fingers were tingling where he gripped his mobile. He wasn't sure if that was from the alcohol or if it was something else, but he didn't let himself think about it for too long before he pocketed his phone and made his way back into the pub.

His eyes must have still been far away when he sunk back into the booth, because Liam laughed and said,

“Must've been some business call. Everything okay?”

Louis shook himself and blinked at the rest of them sitting around the table. Sophia must have slipped past him unnoticed and into the pub while he was on the phone, because she was tucked into Liam's side with a half-full beer in her hand.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Erm, yeah, everything's fine. It was just...someone forgot about time zones. Nothing urgent, just setting up a meeting.”

He reached for his drink, diluted with melting ice, and tried not to think too hard about why he was covering up the details of his upcoming 'meeting'.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)!
> 
> (If you go to my blog on the day this was posted, sorry for the state of it. It's Louis' game day. Also sorry for the state of my blog on any other day tbh)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read and liked the first chapter/prologue of this! I was going to start a posting schedule of Wednesdays and Sundays with this, but this chapter is almost 10K, so it took me a little longer to get it out. Hopefully there will be at least one chapter a week with this. :))
> 
> Some basic **chapter warnings** – This contains some PDA, a couple of pretty small mentions of bondage (you'll see), and a bit of pain kink. Nothing too extreme (yet..)
> 
> In case anyone's wondering, [this is the album](https://open.spotify.com/album/5TzRAndM3vlqcUwfSrZsDJ) I was listening to while I wrote the restaurant scene. And for those of you who are as into food and menu porn as I am, here's the restaurant I sent them to – [barrafina](http://barrafina.co.uk) and [their menu](http://barrafina.co.uk/wp-content/files_mf/1425305260ALaCarteMenu.pdf).
> 
>  **Disclaimer** – This contains fictional representations of real people. None of the events present in this story are true, and I receive no financial benefit from writing this.

Louis narrows his eyes at the two men as they pass the pavement cafe and round the corner, laughing together with shopping bags clutched in their hands. He pulls his beanie lower down over his ears, flattening his fringe to his forehead, and pushes his sunglasses onto his face.

“Dickheads,” he mumbles, glaring at their retreating backs.

Zayn glances up from his phone with raised eyebrows, thumbs hovering over its screen. He follows Louis' eyeline and lets out a laugh.

“What, them?” he asks, setting down his phone to pick up his coffee. “What'd they ever do to you?”

“They're too bloody cheerful. I'm trying to feel sorry for myself over here,” Louis grumbles. He takes a deep breath in, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I'm so hungover, fuck. I'm getting too old for this shit.”

“You? Never,” Zayn scoffs, and Louis' at least half-sure that Zayn's making fun of him, just a bit, but he's too focused on his pounding head to really care.

“I'm twenty-six,” he says, kicking his feet out under the table. “That's more than halfway to thirty. I'm doomed and quickly sliding into decrepit old age.”

“ _Fifteen_ is halfway to thirty, mate. You've been on that slide for a while now,” Zayn comments, aiming a sugar packet at Louis and hitting him square in the forehead with it. “You're not old. You just drank too much tequila.”

“That's a dirty fucking word. I'm never drinking again,” he says, eyes sliding closed as he shakes his head. He presses two fingers into his temple, massaging the skin and trying to get the throbbing to stop. “And where's Liam, then? It's his fault we almost died of blood poisoning last night. Least he could do is buy us breakfast to make up for it.”

“Buy brunch to apologise for buying us too many drinks,” Zayn says with a laugh.

Liam had been the one buying all night after losing a bet on how many times Brad would call Zayn _bro_ while they were in Dubai. Louis had swept the competition with a high estimate of seventy-nine, while Liam's conservative guess of nineteen had seen him opening an ever-growing tab at Ruby Blue and getting more and more generous as the night went on.

“I dunno, I think he's probably still passed out at home or something,” Zayn continues. “Lord knows I would be, if I didn't have to put up with your sorry, whinging arse. Remind me again why we're doing this now instead of in the office on Monday?”

“Because if I'm going to put up with Brad, I'd rather do it while I'm eating a fry up and possibly still a bit drunk from the night before,” Louis says, a small smile spreading across his face in spite of himself as he presses a finger into the corner of his eye under his sunglasses, pulling his phone from his pocket to glance at the time.

“Speaking of...” Zayn says in an undertone, jerking his chin at someone over Louis' shoulder.

Louis cranes his neck around and sees Brad's blond head bouncing toward them through the tangle of outdoor tables. He sits up straighter in his seat, rolling his shoulders back and taking a deep breath in as he attempts to mask his grumbling nausea.

“Hey, guys!” Brad calls as he makes his way to their table, his voice loud and bright, and Louis feels his temple throb. Brad plops himself into the seat next to Zayn, bag sliding off his shoulder, and Zayn grunts. “Is this a British thing? Saturday meetings?”

“Nah, Lou's just a real go-getter,” Zayn says into his coffee, smirking at Louis with a raised eyebrow.

Brad turns to Louis, his grin sunny and firmly in place. “It's kind of weird seeing you out of a suit, boss,” he says after a moment. “Rough night? You look like hell.”

“Cheers, Brad,” Louis says flatly as Zayn lets out a laugh. He rubs a hand over his face, slouching back into his seat and kicking Zayn under the table. “Maybe seeing me in jeans will finally get you to stop calling me Mr Tomlinson.”

The waitress comes over to take their orders just then, and Louis asks for a Bloody Mary to go with his greasy fry up – so much for never drinking again – and glances down at the screen of his phone as Zayn and Brad order their food, trying to keep his face impassive as he opens his texts.

He'd woken to a new contact which he must have entered at some point during the night as “hArrry Stile” – complete with an eggplant emoji – and a nearly half-hour phone conversation from two in the morning which he only half-remembers the details of. The frantic apology text he'd sent to Harry this morning ( _I'm so sorry if I made a tit of myself last night, really, I was pissed when you called. Won't happen again. Sorry !!_ ) still showed as unread, and Louis reminds himself that Harry's probably somewhere over the Atlantic right now and likely not intentionally ignoring his text because Louis had embarrassed himself so horribly the night before.

“Well, I'll be seeing you in jeans plenty once we start shooting next month,” Brad says then.

“Sorry?” Louis asks distractedly, glancing up from his phone.

“In America?” he says, his smile faltering as he glances between Zayn and Louis. “Isn't that what we're meeting about today?”

“No, we're meeting about the footage you two shot in Dubai,” Louis says slowly. “What about America?”

“The restaurant show,” Brad says. “The one with Harry Styles? I got an email from Simon when we got in from Dubai last night. He said he's putting me on it with you because the network doesn't want an all-British team producing a show for Americans. He didn't tell you?”

“No, he didn't,” Louis says, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the pang of annoyance in the back of his mind. “I met with him about that show yesterday, and he didn't mention it.”

“I have the email on my cell if you want to see it?” Brad offers, holding his phone out, his grin gone slightly awkward.

“I believe you,” Louis says, giving a tired sigh and waving off the offered mobile. He glances at Zayn, who's staring at him with slightly widened eyes. “If it was an email, he probably forgot that he's even told anyone yet. I didn't know it was happening. Sorry, it just kind of caught me off guard.”

“That's okay,” Brad says, smile sliding back into place, easy as anything. “Totally get it, bro. It'll be fun though, as long as none of us piss off the chef.”

Louis' phone buzzes on the table before he can answer, and he hurries to cover the name as it flashes across his screen. When he unlocks it to read the text, his heart jumps into his throat.

_> Don't worry, you didn't :) Charmingly inebriated. And I'm counting on it happening again. Still owe you two pints_

—

“Brad? Fucking _Brad_?” Zayn hisses as they part ways with him in front of the cafe an hour later. “You said it was just us and Liam for the Styles show!”

“Because that's what I thought was happening,” Louis whispers, frowning down at his phone as he scrolls through his emails, looking for any indication from Simon that he might have missed. “I had no idea. Simon did it without telling me.”

“I swear to God, if I have to spend another six months with that guy, I'm going to rip my fucking hair out,” Zayn says as he glances over his shoulder to make sure Brad is out of earshot.

“Please don't rip your hair out,” Louis says in a voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy. He laughs when Zayn shoots him a dirty look. “Your hair's practically a national treasure. Talk about a tragedy if it went.”

“It's not just that he's annoying,” Zayn says. “That thing he said, about having the idea to shoot from the top of the Burj Khalifa? That was _my_ fucking shot, bro. Fuck, now he's got me saying bro. This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”

“Okay, it's not _that_ bad,” Louis says. “He's annoying, sure, but at least he's trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, trying to be nice by stealing credit for my shot,” Zayn grumbles. “Real bang up job on his end.”

“Look, I get it,” Louis says, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walk up the street. “That's shit, and I'll make sure you're the one who gets credit for it if that shot gets used. But if we're stuck with him, we're stuck with him. It just...is what it is.”

Zayn lets out a frustrated breath through his nose and hunches his shoulders. “That's like...annoyingly zen coming from you,” he says. They're silent for a moment as they walk in step, the heels of Zayn's shoes clicking on the pavement. “What're you up to tonight? Want to get drunk again so we can forget how hungover we are?”

Louis clears his throat, his cheeks colouring slightly. “I actually, erm... I've got plans,” he says, avoiding Zayn's eye. “Just like, a thing.”

“A thing like a date?” Zayn asks, raising his eyebrows. “You didn't say you'd met anyone. Who's the guy?”

“It's not a date,” Louis says quickly. “It's like, it's a thing. A business thing. Work thing. Not a date.”

“Sure, a _work thing_ ,” Zayn says sarcastically, flipping air quotes with his fingers. “Is this the same work thing that you got all cagey about last night when you disappeared for half an hour?”

“It's honestly nothing,” Louis says defensively. “That really was a business call and this really is a work thing.”

“As your self-proclaimed best mate, I hope you know I'm going to be proper offended if I find out you've gone and gotten another new boyfriend behind my back,” Zayn says. “This is exactly what you did with that guy Stephen last year when you were dating him.”

“I never said Stephen was a work thing!” Louis protests.

“Yeah, but you suddenly had a suspicious new interest in taking eight yoga classes a week,” Zayn laughs. “I know you better than anyone, bro. You're not fooling me.”

“Oh my god, that's because he was a yoga instructor,” Louis says, shaking his head and smiling in spite of himself. “Which, for the record, did actually start with me taking one of his classes. He might've been an arse in the end, but at least he was...flexible. He's the only person I've ever met who could suck his own –”

“Oi!” Zayn cuts him off. “That's going straight into the mental file of things I never needed to know about your sex life,” he says around another laugh. “It's honestly more of a filing _cabinet_ at this point, Jesus.”

Louis smirks at him, ducking his head and laughing as he dodges the arm that Zayn swings at him. “Don't worry,” he says once he's steadied himself. “There's nothing to tell with this one. And if there ever is, you'll be the first to know. Not that there ever will be, obviously. Since it's a work thing.”

“You're the worst liar I've ever met,” Zayn says flatly, shaking his head. “And I'm going to figure out who this mysterious work thing is.” He eyes Louis for a moment. “Just please tell me you're not fucking Brad.”

“It's definitely not Brad,” Louis laughs. “I'm not fucking anyone. This is just...it's a work thing, honestly. But really, God, no, not Brad.”

—

Louis sort of wishes it _was_ Brad, actually, later that evening when he's standing front of his closet in nothing but his pants and staring at the abysmal state of his wardrobe, wishing he had something – _anything_ – to wear.

Everything looks wrong. No matter what he tries on, whenever he glances at himself in the mirror, he either looks like a kid buttoned up in his dad's suit for church or a teenager trying way too hard to impress his date. It doesn't help that Harry has been point-blank refusing to tell him where they're going ( _you told me to surprise you!_ ) and insists on picking Louis up from his flat to “make sure they get there at the same time”. For something that is _definitely, absolutely not a date_ , this is all starting to feel quite a lot like a date.

“It's not a date,” he mumbles to himself, biting his thumb nail and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Not a date. Pull yourself together, Tomlinson.”

He reaches for a loose-fitting blazer jacket and hops from foot to foot as he pulls a pair of tight black jeans up his thighs, jumping up and down with nervous energy as he manages to get them zipped. He's just bending to roll up the ankles and slip into his shoes when there's a sharp knock at the front door.

“ _Shit_ ,” Louis whispers to himself, his stomach jumping as he glances in the mirror to fiddle with his hair.

The knock comes again, and he nearly brains himself on the corner of his dresser as he trips over his own feet in his rush to answer the door.

“I'm coming, sorry!” he calls, taking a last glance around the living room to make sure it looks at least semi-presentable.

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, letting his eyes fall closed for a brief moment before pulling it open.

Harry's standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall next to the door with his hands in his pockets, watching Louis with a small, amused smile on his face. His eyes flash as he gives Louis a quick once-over, gaze darting downwards for a brief moment, and Louis can feel his pulse rocketing through him like the frantic beating of a drum.

“Hi,” he says stupidly, blinking at Harry as their eyes meet again. He hadn't expected him to be so...broad.

“Hello,” Harry says quietly, his smile spreading across his face. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Louis clears his throat, shaking himself slightly as he steps back and opens the door a bit wider.

“Sorry, yeah,” he says quickly. _Pull yourself together_ , he repeats to himself again. He feels his heart rate slow a bit, and he forces himself to make actual words come out of his mouth. “Come in, sorry. I'm almost ready to go, just need to finish...” he gestures vaguely toward his bedroom. “You know.”

“That's fine,” Harry says as he steps into the flat, looking around curiously. “I can wait.”

“You still won't tell me where we're going, then?” Louis asks as Harry follows him into the living room. “How do I know if I'm dressed the right way?”

“You look great,” Harry says quickly, and when Louis turns to look at him over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, Harry's eyes flicker up to his face hurriedly, his cheeks colouring slightly. “I mean...you're dressed right. For the restaurant.”

Louis feels a buzz tingle through him, and he presses his mouth together to hide a smile, licking his lips. Harry's gaze drops for a second, and Louis has to work a bit harder to hide the look that threatens to spread across his face.

“Okay,” he says, holding Harry's eye for a moment longer before turning away. “I'll be just a minute, then. There's a bottle of wine in the kitchen if you want anything. Feel free to help yourself.”

Louis can hear Harry moving in the direction of the kitchen from behind him as he makes his way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and bracing himself against the counter once he's inside. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long moment, willing his jumping heart to calm itself.

“This is not a date,” he whispers to himself firmly. “He's fit and he seems like he's into you, but it's not a date. It's definitely not a date.” He blinks at his reflection for a moment, pulling his blazer straight and pushing up his sleeves. “Just be chill.”

When he makes it into the kitchen a few minutes later, Harry's peering into his spice cabinet with a glass of red wine on the counter in front of him. Louis gives himself a moment to admire the way Harry's spine curves under his black button-up as he stands on his toes to get a look at the top shelf, his shoulders flexing under the thin material and his shirt riding up just enough to show a small sliver of pale skin above the waistband of his jeans. Just because it's not a date doesn't mean he's not allowed to enjoy the view. Louis leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, and he clears his throat pointedly.

Harry wheels around, guilty expression on his face, and Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, I just...it was sort of _there_ , and...” he stammers, looking for all the world like a small child who's been caught smoking cigarettes behind the school at lunchtime.

“Bit like asking Picasso to make himself at home in your amateur craft room,” Louis says, laughing quietly. “If we're going for full disclosure here, you should know that I have no idea how to even use half of those.”

Harry glances down at the plastic bottle of Tesco brand dried parsley in his hand. He holds it up, shaking its contents back and forth. “This one's not good for much,” he says sheepishly. “Even fresh parsley barely does anything. All it really does is balance flavours.”

“Like sweet with spicy?” Louis asks as he pushes off the doorframe and crosses the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine.

Harry hums in agreement, looking down at the little bottle in his hand. “Except parsley's a mild bitter,” he says as Louis pulls himself up to sit on the counter next to where Harry's standing. He glances up at Louis with a crooked smile, a dimple popping out on one cheek. “You can use it to balance sweet or salty things.”

“Are you going to give me a cooking lesson?” Louis asks, keeping his eyes on Harry as he takes a sip of his wine. “Impromptu culinary class?”

“I never went to culinary school,” Harry says, reaching up to put the bottle of dried parsley back where he'd found it. “Couldn't be bothered.”

“I know you didn't,” Louis tells him, crossing his ankles in front of him and kicking at the cabinet with a soft thud. “I've read your CV. Business thing and all. You know.”

Harry leans his hip against the counter next to Louis, picking up his own wine glass. “Well, in that case, you know much more about me than I know about you,” he says quietly, looking up at Louis through his eyelashes. “That's just not fair.”

“You know that I can't cook to save my life,” Louis says, matching his tone. “And that I get giddy and embarrassing off too much tequila. You know what my flat looks like.”

“Parts of it, at least,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows and casting a glance around the room.

“That's right, you've not had a chance to go through my spatula collection yet,” Louis smiles, not exactly sure whether the ball of warmth that settles in his stomach is coming from the wine or from the way Harry's eyes glow when he laughs. “And just think of all that uncharted territory in the china cupboard.”

“You've got a china cupboard?” Harry asks, fanning himself exaggeratedly. “Damn, at least buy a guy dinner first.”

“I was under the impression that you were buying,” Louis laughs. “We might have to do the pot noodle after all if you're expecting me to splash out on dinner. I can't afford your expensive tastes.”

Harry raises his eyebrows and looks around the lofty kitchen pointedly. “With this flat?” he asks. “You can afford anyone's expensive tastes.”

“I'm cheap,” Louis says simply, draining the last of his wine and pushing himself off the counter to stand in front of Harry, looking up slightly to meet his eye. “And unless you're trying to get me drunk, we should head out. I'm starved.”

“Good doesn't have to mean expensive,” Harry says quietly, his eyes scanning Louis' face. “That's cooking lesson number one.”

“Lesson one? I thought you couldn't be arsed about culinary school.”

Harry smiles, taking a step back and reaching for the jacket he'd dropped over the back of a kitchen chair. “I'm making it up as I go along.”

—

The restaurant Harry takes him to is a microscopic tapas bar just a few blocks' walk from Louis' flat in Soho. The blast of energetic Spanish music and happy, buzzing chatter that hits them when Harry holds the door open causes a wide smile to spread across Louis' face, crinkling his eyes as he turns to give Harry an excited look.

“So? How'd I do?” Harry asks, hand settling low on Louis' back as he bends to speak into his ear over the noise of the small, packed dining room. “Did I pass your test?”

“It's perfect,” Louis says in disbelief, shaking his head. “God, I was so afraid you were going to take me somewhere gross and pretentious.”

“Is that really what you think of me?” Harry laughs. “Gross and pretentious?”

Louis scans his eyes over the small room, taking in the semi-chaos around them. There aren't any proper dining tables in the whole space, just a line of standing-height cocktail tables with people waiting to be seated at the long bar which runs the length of the restaurant. The diners at the bar are facing an open kitchen, and Louis can't help but let out a delighted laugh as he watches one of the chefs set a skillet on fire with a splash of liquor, flames pluming up several feet into the air.

“This is just... _so_ not what I expected from you,” Louis admits, turning to Harry with bright eyes. “ _You're_ not what I expected. Like, at all.”

“In a good way?” Harry asks, and Louis suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that his hand is still splayed big and warm over the curve of his lower back.

“In a really good way,” he says honestly, feeling his stomach twist with warm, bubbling happiness. “You're like...you're _cool_. You're so fucking cool.”

“I'm really not,” Harry laughs, shaking his head as he guides Louis through the crowd toward an open cocktail table. “I'm awkward and kind of clumsy and I laugh at really bad jokes.”

“Well, I _make_ a lot of really bad jokes,” Louis says, casting another look around the restaurant. “I've got a few knock knock jokes up my sleeve that I've been waiting to let loose. Just you wait.”

“You already had me at china cabinet. Knock knock jokes are just overkill,” Harry says, eyes flashing as he watches Louis. “Are you trying to get me to put out on the first date? I don't normally do that.”

Louis feels his heart jump in his chest, and he runs a hand back through his hair to give himself something to do with his hands as a waiter approaches them carrying a tray with two glasses of wine and a plate of chorizo and lomo ibérico and thick slices of fresh-baked bread drizzled in bright olive oil.

“From the chef,” the waiter explains, gesturing toward the open kitchen. Louis turns and sees one of the men watching Harry with careful, apprehensive eyes from behind the line. “He says welcome, and he hopes you enjoy our food.”

“Tell him thank you,” Harry smiles, taking his wine and following Louis' gaze to tip his glass at the chef behind the line. The man's eyes go slightly wide, and Louis stifles a laugh as he watches the man nearly drop the skillet-full of food he's holding. “And tell him to relax, please. We're just here to enjoy ourselves.”

“Yes, sir, erm, chef. Sorry,” the waiter stammers, and Harry laughs, smiling warmly at him.

“This isn't my kitchen,” he says kindly. “You don't need to call me that. Just...we're normal customers tonight. Don't stress.”

Louis watches as the waiter's shoulders relax as he nods. “Is there anything else I can get you for now?” he asks, glancing between them and placing the plate of food on the table.

“That's all for now, thank you,” Harry says, his voice reassuring.

The waiter nods and offers a small smile before scurrying away, disappearing behind the bar and deeper into the kitchen.

“I almost forgot that people are afraid of you,” Louis says with an amused smile. “Is that normal when you go out?”

“You have no idea,” Harry says, giving a long-suffering sigh. “It's not like I'm going to yell at them in their own bloody restaurants. Am I really that scary? I'm not that scary.”

“You're a little scary,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose fondly and taking a small step closer to Harry under the guise of reaching for the food. “But I'm warming up to you.”

“Well I'm glad I can at least win someone over,” Harry says, smiling as he watches Louis eat a slice of the sausage. “That's reassuring.”

“On a first date?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows pointedly and trying to keep his face impassive as he glances up at Harry. “I thought you said this was a business thing.”

Harry takes a long sip from his wine, watching Louis over the rim of the glass with bright green eyes.

“I lied,” he says after a moment, placing the glass back on the table, long fingers wrapping around its delicate stem. He clears his throat and breaks eye contact, looking down at his own hand. “This is going to sound cheesy probably, but I wanted to...” He glances back up at Louis. “After that meeting, I wanted to get to know you better. You're...I don't know what it is, but there's just something about you. Is that weird? It's probably weird.”

“I don't think it's weird,” Louis says quietly. He moves closer again, not bothering to hide it this time. “I sort of...well, I kind of spent all day convincing myself this wasn't a date. Mostly because I kind of wanted it to be.”

“We have to work together,” Harry says, ducking his head. “For like six months, we're going to have to work together. Is that going to be awkward if this is a date instead of a business thing?”

“You said yourself that you're awkward by nature,” Louis says, grinning up at Harry as his pulse races at their sudden closeness. “I'm okay with it being both. Nothing wrong with mixing business and pleasure as long as we still get the job done, I say.”

“Good,” Harry says. His hand twitches toward Louis, but he pulls it back. “I'm...that's good. I was sort of hoping you'd say that?” He laughs, clearing his throat and running a hand back through his hair as a pretty blush spreads across his face. “Since this is a date, am I allowed to tell you that your bum looks fantastic in those jeans?”

Louis lets out a surprised laugh, his eyebrows arching upward. “It is pretty great, isn't it?” he asks, turning around and flipping his blazer up to show it off, looking at Harry over his shoulder. “It's my best feature. Besides my biting wit and sparkling personality, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Harry repeats, his eyes dragging upward as Louis turned back around to face him. “I hadn't seen your bum when I asked you out, after all.”

“You're kind of smooth, aren't you?” Louis asks, taking a sip of his wine. “Like, you say you're awkward but you're actually smooth as fuck.”

“No, I'm not,” Harry laughs, shaking his head, his eyes sparkling. “Really, I'm not.”

Louis reaches out with one hand to run a teasing finger down the line of exposed skin on Harry's chest where his shirt is partially unbuttoned. His skin's warm and soft there, and Louis feels a tingle run through him as Harry's hand reaches out to wrap around his hip. He glances up at Harry through his eyelashes, swallowing hard.

“It's okay,” he says quietly. “I like that you're smooth. It makes you easy to talk to.”

“Somehow you don't strike me as the type to have much of a problem talking to anyone,” Harry says, arching an eyebrow.

“Most people don't vibe well with my personality. They think I'm like...harsh or something,” Louis admits, smiling up at Harry. “But you're kind of intense as well, so maybe that's why this works.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, Louis' heart so loud in his ears that he's _sure_ Harry can hear it. He wants to kiss him, badly, can almost imagine what Harry's lips would feel like pressed against his. His head feels like it's spinning with the force of it, and he can't hardly believe that he's only just met Harry yesterday. It feels like so much longer ago than that, the easy conversation flowing between them effortlessly, comfortable like Louis rarely is even with people he's known for years.

He feels it, and he can already tell that he's in way over his head.

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes both Harry and Louis jump, taking a step away from each other. It's the waiter, looking awkward and slightly flustered.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says nervously. “But we have seats at the bar for you now, if you're ready to eat?”

—

It's nearly two hours later when they finally leave the restaurant, buzzed off too much wine and laughing as they push their way from the tiny building and into the cool night air.

“I can't believe you convinced me to eat octopus,” Louis says, a bright laugh bubbling up from his chest. “I can't believe I _liked_ it.”

“I told you, you've just got to have an open mind about weird food,” Harry says, wrapping an arm around Louis' shoulders and tugging him closer into his side as they fall into step, making their way down the street.

“Is eating out really always like that for you?” Louis asks, slipping his arm around Harry's waist. “They just send you free food without you even needing to ask for it?”

“Chefs tend to do it when they recognize me,” Harry says, shrugging easily. “They get nervous when they see me come in and then they pull out all the stops trying to impress.”

“And did he?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry. His jaw cuts a sharp line from this angle, and Louis can't help but wonder what it would feel like to sink his teeth into the skin there. “Impress you?”

“I was a bit distracted tonight,” Harry says quietly, tugging at the ends of Louis' hair playfully and grinning down at him. “I told you, you're bad for my reputation as a serious chef-type.”

“Harry Styles, are you _flirting_ with me?” Louis says with an exaggerated gasp, widening his eyes and clutching at his chest. “Whatever will I do with myself?”

Harry breathes a laugh out through his nose, looking over his shoulder for a second before tugging Louis into a recessed alcove, stepping into the shadows and facing him as Louis leans his back against the wall.

“What are you doing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as Harry's hands grip his hips on either side.

“I want to kiss you,” Harry tells him, quirking a crooked smile. “I've wanted to kiss you all night.”

“So kiss me,” Louis says quietly, his pulse speeding through him and his lips tingling from the wine and the spiced food and the anticipation of it.

He feels his cheeks go warm as Harry steps closer, angling his head down to connect their lips, and he lets out a small, surprised huff of air when their mouths slide together for the first time. Louis reaches up to wrap a hand around the back of Harry's neck, pulling him down more as Harry crowds closer, one of his thighs sliding between Louis' legs, and he makes a quiet sound, muffled in Harry's lips.

It's not anything poetic or explosive; it isn't like song lyrics or movie montages, and it certainly doesn't feel like fireworks in his brain or a jazzy brass band trumpeting in his ears, but what it does feel like is...it feels... _right_. They fit together, somehow, even if the angle is a little awkward with Louis craning his neck back and Harry hunching over to meet his lips, they just seem to _fit_. He nips at Harry's bottom lip with his sharp front teeth until Harry's lips part to let their tongues slide together, and Louis doesn't know exactly why, but in that moment, all he can think is,

_Oh, there you are._

It's like his entire world has narrowed to the feeling of Harry's tongue sliding against his, and he blinks in speechless surprise when Harry pulls away after a moment to press their foreheads together, both of them breathing hard.

“Was that...?” Louis asks, and what he really means is ' _did you feel that too?'_.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, as if he knows what Louis meant. He pulls back a bit to look down at Louis, eyes flecked with warm gold and his smile spreading dimples across his cheeks. “Yeah, I – yeah.”

“Now I see what you mean by awkward,” Louis says in a gently teasing voice, tugging on the end of one of Harry's ringlet curls where his hand is still wrapped around the back of his neck. There's tension in the air around them, but it's the good kind of tension, the kind that Louis wants to dig his fingers into, pry it open and see what's going on beneath the surface. “Where's that smoothness gone now?”

“I think you stole it,” Harry says quietly, swaying forward to kiss him again, and it's like a bright punch to Louis' chest when he feels Harry smile into it.

“You'll have to steal it back, then,” Louis mumbles into his lips. He gasps quietly when Harry rolls their hips together, moving away from his mouth to nip down the column of Louis' throat, sucking gently at a spot just below his jaw.

“What if I don't want to?” Harry asks as Louis' fingers tangle in his hair, his voice gone low and amused. “What if I don't want it back?”

Louis just lets out a soft groan, grinding his half-hard cock down against Harry's thigh. His head feels like it's swimming, and he can feel the buzz of arousal ringing through his body, all the way into his fingertips. He's all too aware that they're very much still in public, even if they _are_ hidden in shadow and stood in a relatively quiet street. A car passes after a moment, and Louis tugs at Harry's hair, bringing his face up so that it's level with his own. Harry moves forward to kiss him again, but Louis pulls back, taking a deep breath.

“Not here,” he says, dragging his eyes away from Harry's swollen, cherry-red lips. His pupils are blown wide in the dark, and Louis has to look away, glancing out to the street. “Fuck, come here.”

He slips out of Harry's hold and back into the street, taking hold of his hand and noting absently how rough his skin feels under his own softer palm.

“What?” Harry asks confusedly, trotting behind Louis in the wake of his hurried steps. “Where are we going?”

“Don't play dumb,” Louis snaps, smiling as Harry catches up with him, releasing Louis' hand to crowd up close behind him, hands settling on his hips as they stumble their way down the last half-block to Louis' building.

Louis fumbles with his keys as Harry presses closer to his back, lips skimming down his neck and distracting him. He finally manages to fit the key in the lock just as Harry's wandering hand palms him through his jeans, and he lets out a rather undignified squeak as they go stumbling inside. Louis turns to press Harry against the wall as soon as the door has closed behind them, crowding into his space and leaning up on his toes to connect their lips again, Harry's hands spreading out across his bum as he grunts into the kiss.

Harry pushes off the wall, and Louis lets out a surprised breath as he goes stumbling backwards without breaking their kiss, hands gripping tight to Harry's collar to keep him close. Harry's hands slide underneath his bum, and Louis' legs lift to wrap around his waist almost automatically, letting loose a high moan into Harry's mouth as their cocks pressed together through their jeans.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his breathing gone ragged as Harry breaks away to bite at the warm skin of Louis' throat. He lurches in Harry's arms as they stumble toward the bedroom on Harry's clumsy feet, and he feels Harry's arms flex where they're wrapped around his waist. “Fuck, fuck, you're so fucking fit,” he babbles.

“How did I know you'd be the type to talk a lot?” Harry asks, his laugh muffled in Louis' neck.

“I'm – fuck, I get loud,” Louis tells him, pulling at Harry's hair. “Why d'you think I live alone? I get really fucking loud during sex.”

“Are you warning me or just telling me?” Harry asks as he toes open the door to Louis' bedroom, crossing the room quickly and dropping Louis onto his back.

Louis bounces just long enough for the breath to be forced from his lungs before Harry's crawling over him, eyes hungry and his hair mussed from Louis' fingers.

“I'm warning you,” he says, angling his head back on the pillows to give Harry's mouth room to move on his neck. “Because you're about to see me getting really loud in about ten minutes' time.”

Harry smirks into his skin, sitting back to yank his shirt off. Louis takes the opportunity to shrug out of his blazer, dragging his loose-fitting T-shirt over his head as well after a moment of consideration.

“It won't take me a whole ten minutes to get you screaming,” Harry says, voice gone low and gravelly as he fumbled with the button of his own jeans.

“You don't fuck about, do you?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow and laughing as he bats Harry's hands away and pops his button, jerking the tight material down Harry's hips impatiently. “I thought you didn't put out on the first date?”

Harry just grins at him as Louis kicks off his shoes, letting them drop to the floor at the foot of the bed with an unceremonious clunk, lifting his hips from the bed and allowing Harry to pull his jeans and pants off in a messy tangle. Their clothes scatter across the floor around the bed piece by piece, and Louis plants one foot on the mattress and pushes at Harry's shoulder, tackling him onto his back and swinging a leg over his hips to straddle him. Their cocks slide together, and Louis lets out a low whine, falling forward and bracing his hands against Harry's chest as Harry presses a dry thumb against his entrance.

“Shit, hold on, just –” Louis stammers, pulling himself up to sit higher against Harry so that they're not pressed so close together.

He arches his back around, curving his spine to reach for the top drawer of his nightstand and jerking it open unsteadily as Harry spreads his big hands out over Louis' bum. Louis smiles to himself as he feels Harry grab his skin firmly, pulling his cheeks apart and letting them go so that they bounce under him.

“You can spank me if you want,” he says in a teasing voice, arching an eyebrow down at Harry and watching the way his eyes go sort of hazy as he licks his lips. “Who knew the master chef was such an arse man.”

“I'm not – not really, but...” Harry's words trail off as he lands a loud smack against the curve of Louis' bum, grabbing at the flesh and digging his fingers in. “But _wow_ , you've got a great arse.”

Louis smirks to himself as he pulls a small bottle of lube from the drawer and reaches for a roll of condoms. He glances over his shoulder and reconsiders, dropping them back in and fishing out a larger size.

“Oh shut up,” Louis says when he sees the smug grin plastered across Harry's face. “Don't let it go to your head. You're already full of yourself enough as is.”

“I'm not full of myself!” Harry protests, laughing as he stares up at Louis from where he's laying against the pillows.

“Okay sure, mister Iron Chef, people bring me free food because they're trying to impress me,” Louis scoffs.

He drops the condoms on Harry's chest and bats his hands away from the bottle of lube, picking it up and drizzling some over his own fingers before reaching behind himself.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry blurts as he watches Louis working himself down on two of his own fingers. “Are you trying to get me to come before we even fuck?”

Louis cracks a smile, letting out a breathy laugh as he makes room for the stretch of a third finger. He spreads them inside of himself, his body making a quiet, slick noise that punches a deep groan from Harry's chest, and Harry's hands flutter over his hips, reaching around to feel at the place where Louis' stretched open, his eyes going dark and unfocused.

“How would that help me?” Louis asks, eyes flashing in the dim light of the bedroom. “I can't ride you if you come before I even get you in.”

“You're going to ride me?”

Louis spreads his fingers inside himself again, letting out a quiet grunt as he feels the burn of it, and he grins.

“What, you thought I was just sitting up here because I enjoyed the view?” he asks as he pulls his fingers from his body.

Harry lets out a surprised laugh, licking his lips as his gaze flickers down to Louis' hard cock bobbing in the air between them. He's still laughing when Louis tears open a condom and reaches behind himself to roll it down Harry's length.

“Fuck,” Harry says under his breath, flopping his head back against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling. “Fuck, I've never...I don't normally laugh like this during sex.”

“If you're not laughing during sex, then you're having sex with the wrong people,” Louis tells him matter-of-factly as he positions Harry's cock and sinks down abruptly until he's seated fully in his lap.

“Shit,” Harry pants, his back arching off the bed and his fingers digging into Louis' hips almost to the point of pain. “ _Shit_.”

Louis plants a firm hand in the centre of Harry's chest as he takes a shaking breath in, giving himself a moment to adjust before rocking his hips slowly, just enough so that he can feel the drag of Harry's cock deep inside him, splitting him open, reaching deep and filling all the spots Louis can never manage to reach on his own. He lifts his hips until Harry's barely inside before dropping down again, a high whine escaping his lips. He repeats the motion a few times until his thighs are settling into a comfortable burn, his hair starting to droop into his eyes as he picks up a rhythm.

Harry's hand reaches for Louis' cock, and Louis bats him away again impatiently, letting it bounce between them as he struggles to keep up the burning pace through the aching of his thighs.

“Should've tied your hands to the bed,” he says, panting and holding firm to Harry's wrist to keep it away from his cock. “Keep you from touching.”

“Next time,” Harry says, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, staring up at Louis with something akin to awe on his face. “You're...fucking hell, you're good at this.”

He uses the hand that's free from Louis' grasp to smack his arse again, and Louis lets out a broken shout, jerking forward slightly with the force of it. He can feel his legs burning underneath him as he bounces on Harry's cock, releasing Harry's other wrist to spread both his hands across Harry's chest for better leverage, and Harry just lets him _take_ , just lays there staring up at him, mouth hanging slightly open as he watches Louis move on top of him. It's like everything in Louis' body has focused in on _this_ , and he can't make himself be mindful of the noises he's making, letting loose a series of high-pitched whines as he rides Harry hard and fast.

His thighs are aching, shaking enough that he's not sure if he's going to be able to keep going, and he collapses down against Harry's chest, gasping for breath and trembling.

“I _can't_ anymore,” he groans, reaching around behind himself with shaking fingers to feel at the place where Harry's splitting him open, sweat dripping down his back and making his fringe stick to his forehead. “Shit, 's too much, I can't.”

Harry jerks his hips up a few times, rutting into Louis, but it's not enough, the position's just off and wrong and –

“Okay, okay, I've got you,” Harry says as he knocks him onto his back, rolling quickly to cover Louis' body with his own. “I've got you.”

He throws Louis' legs over his shoulders and reenters him without much of a pause at all, fucking into him so hard that Louis goes breathless with it, the mattress creaking under them and the headboard banging against the wall, almost drowning out his moans and the string of curses that fall from his lips. He doesn't normally let himself get fucked like this, doesn't let people take from him like this, especially not on the first time, but it's hard to even make himself _want_ to protest when Harry's fucking him so good, bending down enough that Louis can feel the stretch and burn in his thighs every time Harry thrusts into him. He gets a hand behind himself, pressing it into the headboard to keep himself from knocking into it as Harry's thrusts push them further up the mattress, and he's close, he's so fucking close, but there's just something _missing_ , and it's making him feel like all his nerves are standing on end.

Louis can feel his orgasm building low in his stomach, tries to concentrate on the aching in his legs as he gets closer and closer to it, but it's just... There's something... He can't quite...

“Come _on_ ,” Louis gasps out, hands scrabbling over Harry's chest helplessly. “I need... _fuck_ , I can't...”

“What d'you need?” Harry asks, pushing his hands up the backs of Louis' thighs to spread his legs wider as he thrusts into him, the slap of skin on skin sounding loud and obscene in the otherwise quiet room. “Tell me. Anything. Want to – fuck, want to make it good for you.”

Louis just shakes his head on the pillow, groaning in frustration, his teeth clenching as Harry fucks into him, hard and unrelenting but otherwise not _enough_ , not what Louis needs. Harry leans down so that his lips are pressed against Louis' ear, and Louis' legs slip over his shoulders until he's bent nearly in half, his mouth falling open on a shout.

“Tell me,” Harry repeats in a low voice as Louis' fingers dig sharply into his shoulder blades. “Tell me what you need. Want to see you come, c'mon.”

“Fuck, make it hurt,” Louis gasps, a flush spreading over his cheeks and down his chest as he blurts out the words. “Make it hurt.”

He feels like his teeth are set on edge, his whole body drawn up tight and burning for release as Harry sinks his teeth into Louis' collarbone in a sharp bite. His thighs are trembling and aching, toes curling in the air as he clenches his fists tight in the sheet below him.

Harry reaches for his cock between them, gets a hand around it and gives it a harsh twist, his thumbnail digging sharply into the head, and that's it. Louis' eyes roll back in his head and his back arches off the bed obscenely as he comes on a cut-off groan, body quaking with the force of it. Harry works him through it, hand sliding over Louis' cock until it's just this side of too much, and Louis collapses back against the pillows. Harry grabs him by the hips firmly and pulls his limp body into a better position, spreading Louis' legs further apart as he chases his own orgasm, fucking into him hard and fast until he shudders to a stop and sinks his teeth into the side of Louis' neck as he comes deep inside, his hips moving in small jerks against Louis' as he comes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis groans after a long moment as Harry collapses on top of him with dead weight, his legs slipping down to fall to the mattress and tangle with Harry's. “Fucking hell.”

Harry pulls out slowly, tying off the condom and dropping it in the bin next to Louis' bed before rolling onto his back, falling against the pillows with a hand splayed low on his own stomach. They lay there for a long time, catching their breath and letting their heartbeats slow to normal, both covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Harry rolls onto his side to face Louis after a moment, studying his face carefully.

“So you like it to hurt?” he asks, his voice gentle in the quiet room.

Louis feels himself flush again as he turns his head on the pillow to watch Harry with guarded eyes, the muscles in his legs still feeling like they're on fire as a deep, contented burn settles itself low in his chest.

“Not like, a lot,” Louis says quietly. “Nothing weird.” He's silent for a moment before he laughs to himself. “I don't want you to drip wax on my arse or like, I don't know, hit me with a paddle or anything.”

“That's not weird. I'd do it if you wanted it,” Harry says with wide, earnest eyes, and his voice is so honest and open that it makes a shudder run up Louis' spine.

“I don't normally tell people that,” he says then, frowning to himself. “I've only ever been with one other guy who knew, and it took him almost a year to get it out of me.”

“Well, I'm glad you told me,” Harry says firmly. He reaches out to run a finger up Louis' side, making him squirm away with ticklish laughter. “For what it's worth, I get off on getting other people off. Whatever they want, really.”

Louis' silent for a moment, studying Harry's face in the dim light. He doesn't know him that well yet – doesn't really know him at _all_ , honestly – but... there's something about the way Harry looks at him, the way his heart beats wild and out of rhythm when Harry's fingers run over his skin. He shouldn't be feeling like this, not for someone he has to work with and certainly not after a first date hookup, but there's something about Harry that he feels like he cantrust. And that's not a feeling he gets very often.

“If you make me a cuppa, I'll let you get me off again,” he says quietly, probably against his better judgement, as he feels a smile spreads across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [You Always Make Me Smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grnkCPxdTdU) by Kyle Andrews.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3 (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments on this! And I'm sooOOOooOoOooo sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. I just graduated college and was taking some time to decompress from the massive stack of writing it takes to finish an English degree D: But summer is officially here, I don't have a grown up job yet, and I don't have papers or final exams ever again. SO hopefully we won't go so long between updates again.
> 
> This chapter isn't exactly as long as I was originally planning for it to be, but I felt so bad about going so long between updates that I ended it a bit earlier than it was supposed to – which means that chapter four will probably be really long. Whatever. I wanted to get something out and published so everyone knows I haven't just abandoned this fic!
> 
> A few quick **chapter warnings** \- spanking, bit of pain kink, another few brief mentions of bondage (no _actual_ bondage though), pda kink?? sort of???.......I think that's it. Enjoy!
> 
>  **Disclaimer** – This contains fictional representations of real people. None of the events present in this story are true, and I receive no financial benefit from writing this.

The weak sunlight piercing the curtains pulls Louis from sleep, and he groans as he rolls over in bed, his back cracking in a percussive line as he stretches his legs out and curls his toes into the end of the mattress. There's a quiet grunt from next to him, and he turns his head on the pillow to find Harry looking back at him dazedly, his eyes still puffy from sleep and his hair a riot of wild curls around his head.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep,” he says quietly, rolling onto his back and rubbing his hands over his face. His voice is scratchy and a half-octave deeper than normal, and Louis feels a hot shiver run through his stomach. “Just...gimme a minute. To wake up. I'll get out of your hair.”

“It's okay, I wasn't...” Louis allows himself a smile as his eyes fix on a stray ringlet that's fallen over Harry's face. “After the third time in the shower, I wasn't going to kick you out anyway. I might be harsh, but I'm not that much of a dick.”

Harry cracks an eye open, watching Louis carefully for a moment.

“You don't really strike me as the first-hookup-sleepover type,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

“I'm not,” Louis says. “Not normally. You got me to break like...three of my rules last night. I'm still not sure how you managed that.”

Harry gives him a crooked smile, his eyes flashing. “I told you, we're making it up as we go along,” he says. “And anyway, I broke a few of mine as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis asks. “Which rules?”

Harry doesn't answer right away, just rolls into Louis' side to kiss down his neck, his lips curved up in a smile. Louis threads his fingers through Harry's hair, letting out a breathy sigh when he feels Harry nip sharply at the underside of his jaw, their legs tangling together under the quilt as Harry moves further over him. He runs his hands down Louis' sides, tracing the shape of him under the blankets, and Louis feels his cock twitch against his hip.

“Your body,” Harry mumbles into his skin. “God, you're just so...”

“Curvy?” Louis supplies with a quiet laugh, hand skimming down Harry's bare back to press his fingers into the joints at the bottom of his spine and feel where his muscles flex as his hips roll down against Louis'.

“ _Irresistible_ ,” Harry corrects, his voice a low growl that sends a sharp spike of arousal shimmering through Louis' chest.

Harry kisses down his neck, stopping to give a sharp bite to the dark bruise he'd left on Louis' collarbone last night, and Louis lets out a surprised yelp at the jolt of pain that radiates from the mark, his hips jerking up into Harry's of their own accord.

“No sex on the first date,” Harry says quietly as he moves to nip his way down Louis' chest. His fingernails dig sharp crescent shapes into the insides of Louis' thighs as he spreads them apart, shifting to slide down the bed.

“Sorry?” Louis asks, struggling to concentrate through the haze in his mind.

“My rules,” Harry says, glancing up to meet Louis' eye. “No sex on the first date.”

He scrapes a bite over the curve of Louis' side, his lips curling up into a grin when Louis lets out a soft sigh, fingers tugging at his curls.

“No sleeping over unless I'm invited,” he continues, nails raking down the insides of Louis' thighs as he slides further down the mattress. “It's just impolite.”

“That doesn't – ” Louis cuts himself off on a shaky breath as Harry licks his way over his stomach, pausing to nip at the fine trail of hair that leads down to his groin. “Doesn't seem like something you'd – _ahh_ – worry about, being polite.”

Harry just smirks, his fingers trailing down between Louis' legs to feel at the place where he's still all loose and open from the night before, teasing a finger over his rim.

“Do you want to hear my third rule?” he asks, his voice a low, sleepy rumble that sets Louis' nerves on end.

“I want you to suck me off,” Louis says, unabashed, as he reaches down to cup a hand over the back of Harry's head, not-so-subtly directing him. “Doesn't that normally come before real sex anyway? We're doing it all backwards.”

Harry hums non-committally, wrapping his long fingers around the base of Louis' cock and licking his lips with a teasing glint in his eye. “Blow jobs are real sex,” he says quietly. “Just a different kind of sex.”

Louis groans as he feels a puff of warm breath blow out over the leaking head of his cock, and he pulls at Harry's curls with a little more force, toes curling into the mattress. Harry overshoots it – on purpose, the bastard – moving instead to suck at the skin of Louis' inner thigh, his hand moving up his shaft in a tantalisingly slow drag.

“You have very nice thighs, by the way,” he continues conversationally, words muffled in Louis' skin. “Can't remember if I told you that last night.”

Louis mewls above him and jerks his hips up in a sharp thrust, cock sliding through Harry's fist, and Harry wraps his free hand around Louis' hip, pinning him down with fingers digging into a dark bruise that he'd sucked there the night before. He grins into Louis' skin as Louis lets out a whimper at the feeling, cock dribbling pre-cum over Harry's fingers. Harry's eyes flicker up to his face, long eyelashes and cherubic dimples an absurd contrast to the cheeky glint in his eye.

“You son of a bitch,” Louis groans, throwing an arm over his eyes as his neck arches back on the pillow. “You're such a fucking tease.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Harry says seriously, biting his way further up Louis' thigh to start on a new mark, hand still barely moving over his cock. “It's part of my philosophy.”

“You have a sex philosophy?” Louis asks, voice coming out breathy and strained despite his attempt to sound sarcastic.

Harry hums in agreement, scraping his teeth over Louis' skin and making him squirm. “Sex is like food,” he says simply.

When he doesn't elaborate, Louis cracks an eye open to stare down at him, tugging at his hair. “Care to expand on that absurdly cryptic statement?” he asks when Harry's eyes focus on his face.

“Roll over,” Harry says instead, pulling away from where he's crouched between Louis' legs, and Louis lets out a soft whimper when he releases his cock.

“I'm not letting you eat me out,” he says quietly, cheeks colouring. “I don't...it's too personal. Not – not yet.”

“Okay,” Harry says easily, offering him a soft smile. “I won't unless you want me to.” His eyes rake down Louis' body, and Louis feels a shudder run through him. “Still, budge up and I'll explain my philosophy while I'm busy not eating you out.”

Louis eyes him suspiciously for a moment. He's still, well, he's still absurdly hard. And he does sort of want to hear what the fuck _sex is like food_ could possibly mean, but he's...he doesn't normally do it like this. He doesn't really _do_ slow morning sex – he's of the firm belief that that's a thing that couples do, something which he and Harry decidedly are not – and even more than that, he doesn't often let himself be bossed around in bed. At all.

But what Harry's doing isn't really...it's not _bossing_ , not exactly. He's looking at Louis with a hopeful smile on his face, honest and open, and – and the way the sun is hitting his face through the curtains makes Louis' whole body feel like it's on fire. His hair is fluffy and glowing with flyaway strands caught in the soft light, the black ink of a light smattering of tattoos standing in sharp contrast to the long, white scar that runs up his forearm.

Harry raises his eyebrows and sits back on his heels. “Trust me,” he says quietly. “Honestly, I won't do anything you don't want me to do.”

Louis looks at him for another beat of silence before letting out a quiet sigh, deciding to figure out where the fuck this could possibly be going.

“Fine,” he grumbles as he rolls himself over onto his stomach, turning his head to the side and propping it on his folded arms. “Of course I would have the luck to hook up with the one idiot in London who has a sex philosophy that he can only explain while staring at my arse.”

“I never said I was only going to stare,” Harry says with a quiet laugh as Louis feels the bed shift beneath him. “Although...” he trails off, two big hands sliding up the backs of Louis' thighs to grip at the skin of his cheeks. “It is rather fun to look at.”

“Just get on with it already,” Louis says, not quite able to hide the pleased note in his voice. “How is sex like food, oh great Yoda Chef?”

Harry lets out a bright laugh, leaning down to press his smile against the round swell of Louis' bum. He bites at the skin there but otherwise doesn't move further with it, so Louis decides to allow it.

“Sex is like food because you can't have it the same every time or you'd go mad with boredom,” Harry says then, scraping his nails down the curve of Louis' arse as he reaches for something on the nightstand. “You have to mix it up, keep things interesting.”

He pulls his hand away and brings it down in a swift, sharp smack, and Louis jolts in surprise, crying out as his cock jerks beneath him. Harry runs a soothing hand over his skin, pressing a kiss to the opposite cheek before pulling his mouth away again.

“Sometimes you're a bit drunk and you just want it quick and dirty.” He spanks him again, firm and open-palmed, and Louis bites into the skin of his own forearm to stamp off the moan that threatens to rip from his chest. “It's still _good_ , obviously, but it's not what you want all the time. Kebabs from a food truck at three in the morning might taste like the best thing you've ever eaten after two bottles of wine, but you couldn't have them all the time for every meal.”

“So that's what last night was?” Louis asks, his voice gone breathy and just this side of desperate as Harry bends to suck a slow, open-mouthed kiss into his stinging skin. “Shoddy food truck kebabs after a lads' night at the pub?”

“They were really good kebabs, though,” Harry says with a smile in his voice. “The kind that would probably even still be good when you're sober. The food truck might even get a feature in Time Out London or something.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Louis says, his body going tight with anticipation as he feels Harry rubbing a hand over the opposite cheek. “The food truck owner must be beside himself.”

“I'm sure he is,” Harry mumbles, bringing his hand down fast, so hard that Louis bounces a bit on the mattress as he lets out a squeak and a stream of curses.

“There are also times when you're just in a hurry,” he continues, voice as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “You're hungry, and you need to eat, but you don't have time to cook a big meal. Ten minutes, tops, bent over the kitchen counter with your pants around your ankles.”

“I think your metaphor's falling apart, mate,” Louis gasps as his hips start to shift on the bed, grinding down of their own accord in tiny, rolling thrusts.

Harry gets his hands around Louis' hips, pulling him up onto his knees to keep him from getting himself off, and Louis just _goes_ with it, just lets himself be manhandled up so that his arse is in the air, face pressed into the pillows.

“'Course not,” Harry says, as though nothing has changed. “You're halfway through getting dressed, and you don't want sandwich crumbs on your shirt, so you're leaning over the sink. The metaphor still makes sense.”

He lands another smack against Louis' arse, and in this new position, it makes Louis jerk forward into the cradle of his arms. He lets out a broken moan, adjusting so that he's bent forward on his elbows, head dropping down to rest between his forearms as his cock drips pre-cum onto the sheets.

“But sometimes, you can draw it out,” Harry says casually. He slides two fingers into Louis just as he levels another smack against the opposite cheek, and Louis' shout turns to a long moan, tears springing to his eyes. “It's Sunday morning, and you decide that what you really want is a good Eggs Benedict.” He slides a third slick finger into Louis' body, stretching him wider. “It takes time to poach the eggs and make the hollandaise and toast the muffins.” He pulls his fingers out, and Louis cranes his neck around just in time to see Harry ripping a condom open with his teeth. “But when you finally get to sit down to brunch, you find out that all that prep work made it so much better than if you'd just used the instant powdered sauce.”

He pushes into Louis quickly, bottoming out with sharp hipbones pressed tight against him, and Louis lets out a cry, arms shooting forward to brace himself against the headboard. He wraps his fingers around the metal bars in front of him, holding on tight as Harry starts to fuck into him with quick, unforgiving thrusts that are probably going to leave bruises on the backs of his thighs. The sound of their skin slapping together is barely audible over Louis' shouts as Harry brings his hand down against his arse again, landing a firm smack on the already-stinging skin.

Louis scrambles to reach for his cock to give himself some relief, but Harry slaps his hand away immediately, long fingers clenching around his wrist to bend his arm back and pin it at the base of his spine, still fucking into him with rapid, forceful thrusts that pull moans from the back of Louis' throat.

“Gonna make you come just from this,” Harry says in a low voice that shivers straight to Louis' toes and makes them curl against Harry's knees as he twists his hand in Harry's grip, fumbling to squeeze at his fingers. “Want to hear you beg for it.” He shifts his grasp on Louis' wrist, letting their fingers slot together as he uses his free hand to spank him again. “Perfect fucking arse.”

“ _God_ , fucking hell,” Louis bursts out through clenched teeth as he feels the ache and pull in his shoulder, holding onto Harry's fingers with a white-knuckled grip. “Harder, fuck – fuck me harder.” His voice has gone high and raspy, submissive and desperate as he feels the last bit of his control slip away when Harry curls a hand around his hip to keep him from grinding back into his thrusts. “Please...fucking – _Harry_ , please.”

“You're so good – fuck, so good at taking it,” Harry groans. “I could spend all day fucking you. Just keep you like this all day long, arse up in the air. Fuck you until you can't fucking walk.”

“Oh my God,” Louis whimpers, burying his burning face in his forearm on the pillow. “I'm gonna – _fuck_.”

Harry releases his hip to spank him one more time, and Louis practically sobs into the pillow as he comes so hard that it splashes up against his chin. He's still shaking through it when Harry's hips stutter against his, nails digging into Louis' hip and fingers gripping his so hard that Louis loses a bit of the feeling in his hand as Harry's cock pulses inside of him.

Harry groans as he pulls out, rolling to flop down on his back next to Louis as Louis lets his knees give out under him, and he collapses, gasping for breath with his head turned to face Harry on the pillow. He's laying in a cooling mess of his own come and his bum feels like it's on fire, but he can't really bring himself to care right now. Honestly, he's not sure if he'd be able to move even if he wanted to.

“What the fuck,” he says after a moment, words stretching around a breathy laugh. “Fucking...Eggs Benedict sex.”

“So you like the philosophy, then?” Harry asks, cracking his eyes open to stare at Louis with a cheeky grin.

“Fuck the philosophy, who the hell goes straight in for kinky spanking sex at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning?” Louis asks. “Honestly.”

Harry gives him a crooked grin, rolling onto his side to face Louis. “It wasn't _that_ kinky,” he says quietly. “And besides, it seemed like you liked it, so.”

“ _Liked_ it?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. “I haven't come untouched since I was about seventeen, mate. Kinky or not, you were doing something right back there. Even if you do have a bit of a dominant streak.”

Harry's answering laugh is bubbly and bright as it rolls through his chest, his hair laying wild and curly on the pillow. “Not normally,” he says. “Only when the mood is right. I told you, I get off on getting other people off. If that means me getting tied up and fucked, then so be it.”

“Jesus,” Louis mumbles, his cheeks colouring pink at Harry's unabashed tone. “You're not shy about it at all, are you?”

“What's there to be embarrassed of?” Harry shrugs easily. “Sex is natural. Everyone's got kinks. There's no shame in enjoying other people's bodies.”

“You really are the Yoda Chef, aren't you?” Louis asks. “All zen and philosophical about sex and food. I bet you even do hot yoga. Wait, no, please tell me you don't do hot yoga.”

“I do hot yoga,” Harry says seriously, not quite able to hide the dimples that pop out on his cheeks from his suppressed smile. “But, good thing, it means I'm quite flexible. Although, before the second date, you should probably know that I also drink wheatgrass smoothies from time to time.”

Louis gives him an exaggerated grimace, his mouth dropping open in mock horror. “Disappointed but not surprised,” he says, shaking his head as he tries to hide the way his eyes crinkle up with his growing smile. “And here I thought things were going so well for us. Now I _have_ to kick you out. This is awkward.”

Harry breaks and laughs, reaching out to tickle up Louis' side until Louis squirms away with breathy giggles. Harry follows him on the bed, fingers digging into his sides and worming up under his arms as he slides over him, pinning him down as their kicking legs tangle at the end of the bed. Louis lets out a squeal when Harry's fingers start to work over his ribs, and he hooks a leg around the back of Harry's knee, managing to flip them over until Harry's on his back, staring up at him with bright eyes. Louis gets hold of his wrists, and they're both still laughing when he pins them above Harry's head, dipping down to kiss his smiling mouth.

“You're a menace,” he mumbles into Harry's lips. “A cheeky little menace.”

“I'm a menace who probably has terrible morning breath right now,” Harry says quietly, lacing their fingers together on the pillow.

“I'd rather deal with it than stop kissing you,” Louis admits, and he knows he should probably be embarrassed by that, but he can't really bring himself to care. “I want...want to fuck you this time.”

“Now _that_ makes me wish I could stay for another round,” Harry says, releasing one of Louis' hands so he can reach up and run fingers back through his hair. He presses his lips to the corner of Louis' mouth. “Next time.”

Louis hums quietly, warmth curling in his stomach as Harry takes hold of his chin and angles their mouths together for another kiss. “You're leaving?” he asks after a moment.

“I have some stuff to take care of at the restaurant,” he says. “A menu to write, food to cook, people to yell at. You know, the usual. I was in New York for about a month, so I haven't been to the London location in too long.”

“How many restaurants do you have?” Louis asks curiously.

“Four,” Harry says, hand wrapping around the back of Louis' neck to pull him back down. He lets out a quiet gasp when Louis nips at the warm skin of his throat. “LA and Chicago are my other two.”

“Fancy,” Louis says, snuffing a quiet laugh into Harry's neck.

He allows himself a moment to breath him in, feeling Harry's hand move down over his back to rub little circles into his skin, their legs still tangled up together and their heartbeats slowing to a lazy rhythm as their breathing falls in sync. Harry takes a deep breath in, his nose pressed behind Louis' ear, and Louis feels something warm and giddy shiver its way up his chest.

“Good first date?” Harry asks after a long moment, squeezing at Louis' fingers.

“Yeah.” Louis laughs, his face still buried in Harry's neck. “Yeah, like...kind of intense? But good. We covered a lot of ground in – ” he pops his head up to glance at the clock on the nightstand, “ – fourteen hours, so good on you there.”

He moves to sit up so that he's straddling Harry's waist, running his fingers in light patterns over his bare chest. Harry's hands settle on his hips, and he doesn't try to hide his dimpled grin as Louis presses his thumbs into the lopsided extra nipples dotted across his abdomen.

—

Louis' still walking a little crooked when he makes it into the office the next morning. It's been a long time since he got fucked like that, and the bruises along the insides of his thighs are making him distracted and fidgety as he works hard to focus as he rides the lift up to the office with a coffee clutched in his hand. The door dings open on his floor, and he tries to keep his head down as he makes his way to his office. He can't keep his thoughts from straying to the way Harry's tongue felt against his skin the morning before and how much he's already gagging for it again after less than a full 24 hours. Go a while without sex, and you start to forget just how good it can be.

He's barely had a chance to slide his bag off his shoulder and open his laptop before there's a knock, and he glances up to find Liam standing in the doorway, tapping away at the screen of an iPad.

Louis clears his throat. “What's up, man?” he asks, trying not to sound flustered.

“I wanted to go over some stuff for the meeting before everyone gets – ” Liam cuts himself off when he glances up at Louis, his eyes narrowing. He takes a step closer to Louis, his gaze zeroing in on a spot on Louis' throat. Louis tugs his collar up self consciously. “You had sex this weekend.”

Louis clears his throat and runs a hand back through his hair, a nervous tick that he's had since before he can even remember. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he says haughtily.

Liam reaches out and pulls Louis' shirt to the side. “You had _a lot_ of sex this weekend,” he says, raising an eyebrow. He lets out a low whistle. “Does Zayn know about this?”

“Why would Zayn know? Why is my sex life any of your business?” Louis asks. He huffs, fidgeting away from Liam's hands. “I'm an adult. I can do what I want, can't I?”

“Course you can,” Liam says easily, a smirk spreading across his face. “Just that it's been, what, six months? Since Stephen? I know you're not the hookup type, but I guess we've all got needs, eh?”

“It wasn't a hookup,” Louis says quickly, taking a long sip of his coffee. “If you must know, I had...a date. It went well.”

“Really well, by the looks of it,” Liam mumbles as he glances back down at his iPad with raised eyebrows. “Who's the lucky guy?”

“You don't know him,” Louis says. “I just met him, but we...got on straight away. It just kind of happened.”

Liam glances up from his iPad, staring at Louis sceptically for a long moment. “Okay,” he says finally, but Louis has the sneaking suspicion that he's not actually let it go. “If you say so.” He turns his iPad around and slides it across the desk toward Louis, and Louis feels his heart jump in his chest at the photo of Harry staring back at him. “Anyway, what d'you think of this as the advert banner for the Styles programme? I've been trying to decide if we should go with this version or the one with Horan in there too.”

“Are we moving on that already?” Louis asks, managing to compose himself as he scrolls back and forth between the two image options.

They look exactly the same, except one has a blond man standing slightly recessed behind Harry. They both look quite serious and intimidating, and Louis tries to hide his smile as he remembers the way Harry's face had softened yesterday as they said a lingering goodbye at the door to Louis' flat, the way his dimples had carved deep craters into his cheeks when Louis had pressed him to the wall and licked into his mouth, standing on his toes in bare feet.

“Could we get the photoshoot redone? Maybe make it a little friendlier?” Louis asks then, glancing up at Liam.

“Friendlier, really? Isn't he supposed to be some big scary, screamy chef?” Liam asks, pulling the iPad back across the table to scroll through the options himself. “I dunno if I really get _friendly_ off him, but I guess we could toss it out at the meeting today.”

“He's friendly enough,” Louis says quietly. “Just...intimidating at first. But actually really nice.”

“Oh, that's right, Zayn said you'd met him over video call,” Liam says. He locks his iPad and tucks it under his arm, fixing Louis with a curious look. “What was he like? Besides 'nice', obviously.”

Louis shrugs, avoiding Liam's eye. “Our Skype meeting only lasted about an hour,” he says. “We mostly talked about work stuff. He was just friendlier than I pictured, that's all.”

“Well, I guess I'll find out this morning, won't I?” Liam asks, offering Louis a genial smile.

“This morning?”

“Yeah, didn't you check your email yet? Simon bumped the meeting up from Thursday. They're coming in today to meet with the team about the show because they're only in London for a few more days before they head back to America again,” he says. “They should be here in about an hour.”

Louis feels his stomach sink and his heart rate pick up all at once. “Shit, seriously?” Louis asks, pulling his emails up on his computer hurriedly. Sure enough, there's an email from Simon that came in about an hour ago. “Okay, shit, I need to pull some stuff together. I need to...sorry, I've got to get ready for that.”

“Alright, let me know if you need any help with it,” Liam offers, but Louis' already scrolling through documents hurriedly and pulling his mobile from his bag to find Harry's number in his contacts simultaneously.

“Yeah, cheers,” Louis says distractedly, nodding at Liam from his desk. “Would you mind shutting the door on your way out? I need to make a call.”

Liam raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't argue, pulling the door closed behind him with a last curious look at Louis from across the room. Louis bounces his leg under the table impatiently as he waits for Harry to pick up on the other end.

“Miss me already?” Harry's voice asks when the line clicks through. “It's only been what, twenty hours? Isn't there like, a three day wait policy or something?”

“I've always hated that rule,” Louis says, sitting back in his seat and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I'm not much of a rule-follower.”

“I'm starting to figure that out,” Harry says, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. “So what's up?”

“We have a meeting today,” Louis says, glancing at the clock on the wall. “One that you should be about to leave for, if I'm not wrong.”

“Right, that,” Harry says quietly, and Louis hears a soft clatter in the background. “We didn't change it until last night. I would've mentioned, y'know, yesterday. If I'd known.”

“It's okay, it's not a big deal,” Louis says. “I just...well, we're working together. And we didn't really get the chance to go over ground rules the other night in between...you know.”

“Between the drunken sex marathon and me spanking you?” Harry asks, and Louis can tell that he's grinning that stupid, lopsided smile of his. “All of which I rather enjoyed, by the way.”

“Yeah, that,” Louis says, rubbing his finger over a smudge on his glass-top desk to distract himself from the way his cock twitches in his dress trousers. He clears his throat. “But, yeah, ground rules.”

“Is this a set of rules that you're actually going to follow?” Harry asks, his voice amused. “Because we don't have a very good track record with that so far.”

“No one can know about it,” Louis says. “Or at least, they _don't_ know about it. And I'd like to keep it that way, at least for a while.”

“For a while?”

Louis clears his throat again, leaning forward in his seat and pressing his phone tighter to his ear. “I liked it too, you know,” he says. “And I'd like – I mean, I _want_ to keep doing it? But I don't think people should know about it. Not yet.”

“That's what you said yesterday about me eating you out,” Harry says in a low voice. “Are the two connected?”

“Not necessarily,” Louis says, his face heating. “Just, they're both things that I wouldn't really be comfortable with unless we were, you know, unless we knew each other a bit better. That's all.”

“I wanted to eat you out yesterday, for the record,” Harry says. “Am I allowed to say that?”

“You're allowed to say whatever you want,” Louis says. “You just can't do anything about it.”

“Well in that case, I can tell you about how much I wanted to lick you out yesterday,” he says. Louis shifts in his seat, running a shaky hand back through his hair. “I bet you'd get off on it, riding my face. I bet you'd like it both ways, too. Whether you were in control or not, fuck. I could tie you down and make you take it until you came just from that.”

“Jesus,” Louis says under his breath. “Please tell me you're at least in private right now.”

Harry laughs under his breath. “I'm on the tube,” he says. “But the nearest guy has headphones in, so.”

“That is no excuse,” Louis hisses. He takes a shaky breath in through his nose. “I have to go. I've got stuff to get ready before you get here.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Harry asks, and Louis can tell that his voice has gone cautious, much less self-assured than just seconds before. “Sorry if that was too far.”

“No, it's just – ” Louis cuts off on a breathy laugh. “You didn't say anything wrong. I'm just...my office has glass walls and I'm trying really hard not to come in my pants like a teenager right now, is all.”

“Something to work towards, then,” Harry says after a short beat of silence. “The eating you out, I mean. Not the coming in your pants. Although...”

“You have an overactive imagination and I have work to do,” Louis says, but he's laughing. “I'll see you in an hour.”

“Right, yeah,” Harry says. His voice gets more serious. “Really though, if you don't want people to know, I totally get it. Niall doesn't know either, and I'm totally okay with keeping it that way. He's a good guy, by the way. You'll like him. He's my comic relief.”

“You need it, with how morbid your voice is half the time,” Louis says. “Surprised I didn't fall asleep fucking you. Your dirty talk sounds like a funeral oration.”

“I'm not _morbid_ ,” Harry scoffs. “Just...my voice is deep. And sometimes monotoned.”

“It's okay, I like your morbid voice,” he says. “It's like, weirdly hot. Maybe I have a thing for funeral directors or something.”

“Now _there's_ a kink I've yet to explore,” Harry says. “I'll add it to the list.”

“Oh my god, I'm never having sex with you again,” Louis says through his smile, shaking his head absently as he watches the slow movement of the Monday morning office outside his window. “There's no such thing as a sexy funeral director.”

“We'll see about that,” Harry says loftily, and he hangs up before Louis has the chance to respond.

He stares at the dark-screened phone in his hand, mouth hanging slightly open. He can't help but laugh to himself as he tries to focus his attention on the work that he actually does have to get done. There's just something about Harry that throws him off his game. Louis' normally the one two steps ahead in conversation, but Harry seems to be always beating him to the punch with it, ready with a response before Louis has even finished saying the thought running through his mind. He wonders how long he could spend talking to Harry, wonders if there would come a point where he'd run out of ways to be surprised by him.

He thinks he might just be okay with finding out.

Harry breezes into the office not thirty minutes later – ridiculously early and sporting an air of calm self-assurance that sends the assistants scurrying out of his way to surreptitiously watch from behind their computer screens. He's being trailed by a cheerful blond man who Louis recognises as Niall Horan, both accompanied by a rather flustered-looking Zayn. Louis watches as Zayn says something to them and points in the direction of Louis' office, and Louis fidgets a hand over his hair just before Harry's eyes flicker over and catch on him.

The smile that flashes across Harry's face is small and quickly-concealed, but Louis feels his stomach jump nonetheless, and he knows he's fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [You Always Make Me Smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grnkCPxdTdU) by Kyle Andrews.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 3 (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of the second half of chapter three? Basically, this is where chapter three was supposed to end, so I'm counting it as a single chapter. 
> 
> ANYWAY, thank you as always for all the comments and feedback, you guys are awesome! Even just quick comments always brighten my day and make it so much more fun to write knowing that people are enjoying what I'm putting out. So thank you to everyone who's taking the time to comment, but even if you're not, thank you for taking the time to read! <333
> 
> Also, the bar they go to in this is based on a real place. The bar doesn't have a name, but here's their [website](http://www.69colebrookerow.com/#about) if you want to check it out. Also this is [the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/spotify/playlist/1qznhWU84Pobl6io98fzwv) I imagined for the bar/listened to while I was writing that scene.
> 
> Not too many **chapter warnings** for this one, but - brief implications of bondage, .... actually I think that might be it. Oh! Also there's a mention of fisting (sorry mom). Overall tho this one's pretty lowkey.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** – This contains fictional representations of real people. None of the events present in this story are true, and I receive no financial benefit from writing this.

The meeting goes well enough that Niall suggests they all meet up that night after hours to get to know each other, and while Louis feels like it's a good idea to do that, he's also jittering with nerves as he makes his way down the quiet street toward the bar where he's supposed to meet up with everyone. He glances down at his phone then up at the facade of the building, frowning at the ambiguous directions that Harry had texted him along with a message that just said “trust me” accompanied by a dancing girl in a red dress and a martini glass.

He's not sure if he's in the right place or not; there's no sign out front, and he's stood in a quiet little back street in Islington. The place in front of him has blacked out windows and looks for all the world like an abandoned shop front.

“What the fuck,” he says to himself under his breath.

He's about to give up and call Harry or something, because he's pretty sure he's wound up at the wrong place, but just then, the door in front of him pushes open and a blast of muffled music floats up from the dark stairwell just inside, a tangle of elaborately-dressed hipsters stumbling into the street and laughing together. The door swings shut again, and the street goes quiet as they round a corner.

Louis blinks, not really sure what to make of it. He _probably_ won't be kidnapped and murdered if he goes inside, but there's really no telling. After a short moment of consideration, he decides to risk it.

There's a small door at the bottom of the staircase, and when he pushes it open, he finds himself in a small, crowded room full of people laughing and talking over the sound of some sort of weird techno-jazz fusion. There's a bar in the corner where the guy behind the counter is making a show of pouring drinks, and a waiter is buzzing around between standing groups and low tables that are set into the recessed walls.

He hears his name called over the noise of the bar, and he turns to see them all sitting around a table in the corner, partially-hidden in the shadows with small plates of food scattered around and exotic-looking cocktails in their hands.

“You made it!” Niall says once Louis' managed to push his way through the room and over to where they're seated. “Was starting to wonder if you'd show.”

“Yeah, it was a bit hard to find,” Louis says, as he slides into the open seat in the booth next to Harry, who's smiling at him with all the dimples. “What is this place? It's crazy.”

“It's a speakeasy, bro,” Brad says enthusiastically as Liam kicks at Louis' foot under the table in greeting. “Or something, I don't know. I just wish I'd known about it before now. This place is so awesome.”

“Well you've only lived in London about a month, Brad,” Zayn says with a barely-concealed eye roll.

Brad either doesn't notice Zayn's tone or chooses to ignore it, because his smile doesn't falter, and Louis covers his laugh with a cough. There's something in Brad's determined optimism that's almost admirable, he thinks, even as Zayn glares at him from across the table. Louis smiles to himself and slides his hand onto Harry's knee, squeezing it lightly.

“D'you want a drink?” Harry asks quietly as the conversation moves on around them, covering Louis' hand with his own under the table and pulling a menu toward them. “They do really good cocktails. You'd like this one, I bet.”

He taps his finger against a concoction of smoked tea, honey liqueur, and champagne that makes Louis feel all bubbly and floaty before even tasting it. Then again, that might be partially due to the way the rough, scarred pads of Harry's fingers are tracing shapes across the back of his hand, the closeness of him in the booth, the heady scent of expensive cologne and the long press of his leg against Louis'.

“Sounds alright,” Louis says in the same quiet tone. He licks his lips, glancing around the table to where the others are talking about New York and the upcoming shooting schedule. “Guess I could try it.”

“Good,” Harry says simply, sliding a drink across the table toward him. “Because I already ordered you one. I still owe you two drinks, remember? I never followed through on that.”

“You ordered me a drink?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow at the sweating glass in front of him. “Without asking?”

Harry looks bashful for a moment, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I get weird and kind of controlling about food sometimes,” he says. “Some people think it's annoying. You can get a different one if you want.”

“No, it's fine, just...” Louis pulls the drink toward him, spinning it between his fingers. “I don't think anyone's ever ordered me a drink before unless it was like, some creepy bloke in a bar who just wanted to stare at my arse or something.”

“Have you met me?” Harry asks in an undertone, giving Louis a small smirk. “The only reason I'm not staring right now is because you're sitting down.”

Louis just rolls his eyes, but he's not quite able to hide the pleased little smile on his face as he lifts the drink to his lips to take a sip. It's fizzy and not-too-sweet, and he grins as he sets it down.

“So what's the plan?” Zayn asks, drawing Louis' attention. “You two go into a restaurant, eat some shit food, scream at a guy until someone cries then rebuild the whole mess from the ground up?”

“I'm shooting for a buddy cop version of _Kitchen Nightmares_ ,” Liam says, squinting one eye closed and panning his hands out to frame Harry and Niall together. “That's Lou's big vision.”

“I've already told Louis, Niall's my comic relief,” Harry says, nodding sagely. “He keeps me level. That's why I keep him around in the kitchen.”

“Oi, I'm more'n that!” Niall laughs, finishing his drink and motioning to the waiter for another. “I can cook my arse off too, you know.”

“Well I can't grill a steak to save my life,” Louis admits, sitting back in his seat with his drink and squeezing at Harry's knee again. “All I can do is produce decent telly.”

Harry shrugs, his face remaining impassive as he pushes a hand back through his mess of curls and reaches forward to pick up the menu again with his free hand. “As long as you stay out of my kitchen, we'll get along just fine.” He laughs and waves the menu through the air. “And I'll stay out of your hair when you're doing...whatever it is that a producer does.”

“Boss people around, mostly,” Louis says, letting his hand slide up the inside of Harry's thigh. “Keep everyone in line, stress cry in the loo when everything goes to shit, get drunk on the network's dime.”

“Sounds about like Harry during an overbooked dinner service,” Niall says, winking at Brad across the table from him.

“Bossing, stress crying, boozing,” Harry laughs, hooking his foot around Louis' ankle. “We're quite the pair.”

“I think yours is more _screaming_ , stress crying, boozing,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. “And half the time I'm the one doing the crying.”

“What's that about, by the way?” Zayn asks. “Because you seem, y'know, pretty normal now, but you're not fooling me. I've seen you nearly rip a guy's head off for oversalting a stew.”

“You've not seen the half of it, bro,” Niall says with a long-suffering sigh. “I've been working with him for almost ten years now. Fucking madman when you get him going, let me tell you that.”

Louis tamps down the corners of his mouth, hiding his smile behind his glass as he takes another sip of bubbly champagne. His hand tightens on Harry's thigh, fingers digging into his inseam.

“You love me, Niall,” Harry scoffs. “I make it up to you in hugs and free food.”

“Yeah, hugs after you scream yourself hoarse telling me to go fuck myself.” Niall rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. He takes a sip from his new drink. “Working a brigade is a tough gig, man. You get used to it. Harry's the best of 'em, honestly.”

“Why do they call it that?” Brad asks, cocking his head to the side.

“What, a brigade?” Harry asks, swirling the ice in his drink. “It's French for team, sort of. But mostly because chefs like to think they're hardcore, and it sounds military.”

“And do you?” Liam asks. “Think you're hardcore?”

“I have my moments,” Harry laughs. His grip tightens on Louis' hand under the table as it slides higher up the inside of his leg, and Louis smirks to himself.

“But sometimes you're just a big softie?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I bet you even do yoga, to _centre_ yourself or something.”

Harry laughs quietly, flushing slightly as Niall cackles and elbows him in the side.

“Don't let him fool you either,” Zayn says, kicking Louis under the table. “He dated a yoga instructor for about a year. He likes to make fun of health nuts, but he got really into Bikram for a while there.”

“Oh _really_?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow and giving Louis a significant look. “That's interesting. I would've taken you for the type to laugh at hot yoga.”

“It's a long story,” Louis says loftily. “I went through a phase. Hot yoga is still ridiculous though, for the record.”

“What was she like?” Brad asks, leaning forward in his seat. “I feel like I don't know anything about you, boss. Was she...y'know, flexible?”

Zayn pulls a face that can only mean _yikes._ Louis runs a finger along the inseam of Harry's jeans and licks his lips as Liam snorts into his drink.

“You know less about me than you think, Brad,” Louis says, shaking his head. “But yes, _he_ was. Very flexible.”

“Oh, shit, sorry, bro, I didn't mean...” Brad coughs. “I didn't mean to assume. I just always thought you were straight for some reason.”

There's a brief awkward silence around the table until Louis laughs, raising his eyebrows.

“Really?” he asks around his smile. “Brad, I'm sorry mate, but you literally have the worst gaydar in the world if you thought I was straight. I regularly describe myself as flamboyant.”

“Well Idon't know,” Brad says defensively, his face breaking into a relieved smile when he sees that Louis isn't angry with him. “I tried to date a guy once who I thought was gay but then it turned out he was just really comfortable with himself but actually super straight. So I try not to pin people down after that.”

Louis chokes on his drink and Zayn nearly gets whiplash from how quickly he turns to give Brad a slack-jawed look of surprise.

“Now _there's_ a plot twist,” Liam says, leaning forward. “You're gay?”

Brad shrugs, looking around at the rest of them staring at him. “Sort of?” he says, pushing a hand back through his hair. “I don't really label it. I just date people. I don't care about their equipment.”

“Same,” Harry says, shrugging as he dips the tip of his finger into his drink and brings it to his mouth. “I'm...open to anything. Anyone, whatever. I guess that makes me bi? I've never really thought about it, to be honest.”

“You date women?” Louis asks at the same time that Zayn says,

“You date men?”

There's another pause in the conversation as they all blink at each other, the buzz of the room carrying on around them.

“This conversation is a mess,” Niall says finally, breaking the silence with a laugh. “So what's your story then?” He gestures at Brad. “Fellow foreigner in England, what brought you to London?”

“We bought out his old company,” Louis says distractedly, pulling his focus away from where he's been staring at the side of Harry's head. Harry's fingers tighten around his momentarily. “He got transferred from LA.”

“Yeah, I've been here about a month?” Brad says. “Something like that. I like it so far. It's a lot different than what I expected. Less _Pride and Prejudice_ , more...normal? But with more Indian food. You guys eat too much curry if you ask me. And it doesn't rain as much as I thought it would.”

“You expected a Jane Austen novel?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, it's not disappointing,” Brad says quickly with an earnest expression. “I like you guys. You're awesome. It's just not what I thought England would be like.”

“I have to go to the loo,” Harry says then, releasing Louis' hand under the table. He licks his lips nervously and gives Louis a significant look. “Mind if I get up?”

“No, it's fine,” Louis says. He glances at Zayn, who's watching them with a carefully-masked expression on his face. “I actually sort of have to go as well. I'll come with.”

He slides out of the booth to let Harry up and follows closely on his heels as they retreat from the table. They make their way through the tightly-packed crowd and down a narrow corridor to the bathroom. Harry locks the door behind them when they make it inside, and he turns to face Louis.

“Is it a problem?” he asks without preamble. His feet are turned in toward each other, and he's staring hard at the floor, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “The fact that I also date women? Does that bother you? You should tell me now if it's a problem, before things go too far.”

“Not if...I mean, no, just – ” Louis cuts himself off, shaking his head. Harry looks up at him with an unsure expression on his face, and Louis sighs. “No, it's not a problem. Not at all. I was just surprised, is all. I didn't really, y'know, I've never slept with a guy who wasn't just gay, at least not that I know of. It just surprised me, I guess.”

Harry shrugs a bit helplessly, looking around the small bathroom as if he's avoiding Louis' eye. “It's just who I am,” he says. “It's who I've always been. I just like people and other people's bodies. I told you that.”

“I know, I just thought...when you said _people_ , I just assumed you meant men, I guess,” Louis says. Harry looks unsure of himself again, and Louis takes a small step closer to him. “Honestly, it's not a problem. I like you. A lot. More than I should this early on, probably, but whatever. If you've got me saying that out loud after just one date, you must be doing something right.”

Harry offers a small smile, ducking his head. “This can sort of count as the second date, maybe,” he says. “I would've brought you here at some point anyway. It's my favourite bar in London.”

“See? That's why I like you,” Louis says. He takes another step closer and reaches out for Harry's hand, lacing their fingers together. “You know about weird underground speakeasies and you're willing to count it as a second date even when we're surrounded by our friends and Brad and pretending we don't know each other.”

“What's his deal, anyway?” Harry asks quietly, laughing under his breath.

“He's just...Brad,” Louis says, shrugging. “Zayn hates him because he's too happy all the time and also because he sort of tried to take credit for a shot that Zayn came up with.”

“I like him, sort of,” Harry grins. “He's cheerful. And nice. I like nice people. And you. I like you a lot.”

—

It's several hours later, after the bartender has already issued the midnight last call, when they all make their way back up the staircase and into the breezy night street. It's oddly refreshing after such a long time spent in the cramped basement bar, and Louis takes a deep breath in, feeling his head clear from a bit too much honeyed champagne.

“We'll see you in New York, I guess?” Niall asks, clapping hands with Brad to pull him into a bro hug as Liam and Harry laugh over something together and Zayn kicks at a loose pebble on the pavement, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yeah, guess so,” Louis says. “Shame you two are clearing out of town earlier on.”

“We've got to get to Chicago for a couple weeks,” Harry explains, shrugging helplessly. “Restaurant business to take care of before shooting starts. You've got my number, though. Just give me a ring if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says quietly. He looks around the loose tangle of their group: Liam pulling his phone from his pocket to text Sophia for a ride, probably, Zayn eyeing the main street down the block in search of a cab. “Actually, you want to share a cab back downtown? I think we live close to each other.”

Harry presses his lips together to cover his smile, glancing toward Niall who's chatting animatedly with Brad. “Sure,” he says. “Yeah, that's fine.”

—

“D'you mind if I ask why you don't want people to know we're...hooking up?” Harry asks a bit later once they're in the quiet backseat of a cab, making their way back downtown. “I'm just curious, sort of. At first I thought maybe you weren't out to the people you work with, but that's obviously not the case, so.”

Louis gives him a small smile, sliding closer along the seat until they're pressed up next to each other. “I don't really mind,” he admits, looking down at his hands. “I just kind of...I dunno, it feel like it would be more professional? If we're quiet about it? At least for a while, I dunno.”

“So you're not just embarrassed of me, then?” Harry asks, but his voice is light and teasing, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Why would I be? You're fit and have a bonkers sex philosophy and you can cook. Not to mention that you let me climb you like a tree when I'm feeling horny,” he says. “You're fishing for compliments right now, and it's very transparent.”

“You can feel free to keep them coming if you want,” Harry says with a cheeky grin. “I don't mind hearing them. Tell me again about how fit I am, please.”

“D'you want to come over tonight?” Louis asks instead, sliding a hand down Harry's leg. “I don't actually know if you live anywhere near me, by the way. I was just trying to get in your pants.”

“Actually, I...well, I sort of live in Islington,” Harry says, letting his dimples show as he pushes a hand back through his hair. “So I was kind of banking on this being an invitation, or that would've been quite awkward.”

The ride to Louis' flat is quicker than it ordinarily would be, since it's after midnight on a Monday and the streets are mostly empty. He won't let Harry kiss him in the car because – Harry's burgeoning kink for PDA aside – he feels weird about the fact that there's nothing between them and the cabbie other than a thin veil of transparent plastic.

When they do finally stop in front of Louis' building, though, he fumbles a bit with his wallet, overtipping the driver just because Harry's pressing up close behind him as the car pulls away, hands low on his hips and tongue tracing the shape of his ear. Louis shudders with the spike of heat that runs through him, batting at Harry's hands so he can pull his keys from his pocket and unlock the door. He realises as they make their way inside that he accidentally left the kitchen light on earlier, but he's sort of grateful that he can at least see where he's going once Harry pounces on him as soon as the door swings shut behind them.

“Wanted to kiss you all night,” Harry mumbles into his lips as Louis turns to press him into the wall and lick into his mouth, hands pushing under his shirt where it's been half-unbuttoned and tantalising, fingers splaying out over his ribs to wrap around his sides and pull him closer. “Want you on top tonight,” he continues. “Want you to fuck me.”

Louis lets out a muffled groan, pulling Harry tighter against him and stumbling backwards toward the bedroom down the hall as Harry fumbles with the button of his jeans, fingers clumsy and half-drunk off top-shelf cocktails and sex. They separate for a moment so Louis can push his own shirt up off his head, throwing it haphazardly behind him so that it lands in the dark room with a soft _flump_ , and Harry flops backwards onto the bed, bouncing a bit on his back and scrambling to pull Louis back over him once they've both kicked off their shoes.

“Food truck sex or d'you want it slow?” Louis asks, reaching for the top drawer of his nightstand as he crawls over Harry, distracted by the way that Harry's long fingers press into the bruises still standing out in sharp relief along the backs of his thighs.

“Chocolate mousse,” Harry mumbles, lips attaching to the skin of his neck to suck a fading lovebite into a darker shade of red. “I want it like chocolate mousse.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Louis asks with a breathy laugh, overwhelmed and buzzing and so fucking turned on it hurts.

“Decadent and sensual,” Harry says as if it were obvious. “Sexy, like chocolate mousse.”

“You're so corny,” Louis says, and Harry smiles like the sun. He looks beautiful like this, Louis thinks, all laid out on the pillows with his curls in a messy tangle around his head, green eyes flashing in the dim light from the street that spills in through the curtains.

Louis bends to kiss him again, and he gets distracted by the way his tongue is pulling soft sounds from the back of Harry's throat. He wants him to keep making those sounds, wants to hear what other sort of noises he can get out of Harry. He feels two big hands slide down the plane of his back to grab at his bum, and Harry makes another interesting noise when Louis rolls his hips down purposefully, his toes curling against the backs of Louis' calves.

“God, you're so fit,” Harry gasps, breaking away to kiss along Louis' neck, alternating between sharp nips of teeth and long swipes of his tongue. “I'm not – fuck, I'm not normally like this. It's like I can't think straight around you.”

“What are you normally like?” Louis mumbles, smiling into Harry's skin as he begins to kiss down his torso, pausing to lave his tongue over the skin of his chest and watching through his eyelashes as Harry arches his neck back on the pillow and threads his fingers through the feathery hair at the back of Louis' head.

“I usually take things slow,” he says around a moan as Louis' fingers wrap around the base of his cock. “I don't – I told you, I don't do sex on the first date.”

“This is our second date,” Louis says quietly, running his fingers over Harry's cock in a teasing drag.

It feels...different this time. Still good, still amazing, but this is his comfort zone. He knows what he's doing here, sort of, not like last time when he was completely out of his depth and just taking whatever he was given. He thinks he might want to try that again sometime, can already feel himself aching for it honestly, but he likes it like this, too, likes knowing that he's got some modicum of control over the situation.

When he thinks about it, really, he kind of wants to try it every way with Harry. He wants to know what it would be like to have Harry hold him down and ride him, take away all his power and just use him to get off. That's not a thing he's ever wanted before, would probably have balked at the idea just a week ago, but Harry's got him curious for it, has him wanting to know what that would feel like.

“It was a work thing,” Harry says then, swallowing hard and jerking his hips up into Louis' hand. “We can count it, though, if you want.”

Louis smirks into the skin of Harry's stomach, sliding lower down his body and licking his lips. He squeezes at the base of Harry's cock again and taps the head against his bottom lip to draw his attention, waiting until Harry lifts his head off the pillow to look down at him before licking forward and swallowing it down, relaxing his throat until his nose is pressed against the warm skin of Harry's stomach.

“Oh my god,” Harry groans, throwing his head back again. His hands flutter over Louis' cheeks, and throat, fingers feeling at the corner of his mouth where his lips are stretched tight around his cock as Louis breathes in slowly through his nose. “Holy shit, fucking hell.”

Louis pulls up and bobs his head a few times, tongue pressing against the underside of Harry's cock and hand pinning his hips to the bed to keep him from fucking up into his mouth. He pulls back to catch his breath, hand still working Harry over with a tight grip.

“Blowjobs are my special talent,” Louis says, reaching to flip open the cap on a bottle of lube and squeeze some out over his fingers. “Deep throating is my secret superpower.”

“You're telling me,” Harry says faintly, cracking an eye open to stare at Louis in apparent disbelief. “I don't think anyone's ever managed that on me without making that gross gagging sound.”

“I worked hard to get rid of my gag reflex at a young age,” Louis says sagely, laughing under his breath. “The gagging noise is not sexy at all. Talk about a failed chocolate mousse.” He raises an eyebrow at Harry as he teases a finger over his entrance. “I bet you'd throw a whisk at my head or something if I fucked up dessert like that.”

“If I tried to make a mousse with a whisk, I wouldn't have any strength left in my arm to throw it,” Harry says, letting out a giggle which, well, which should _not_ be as hot as it is, honestly. “Strictly electric mixers for making mousse.”

“I bet Bobby Flay would use a whisk,” Louis says idly, pushing his finger inside and bending to lick away the drop of pre-cum that blurts out over his fingers.

“Bobby Flay can get fucked,” Harry says quietly, shifting his hips against the bed and bringing his knees up to plant his feet on the mattress as Louis adds another finger.

“Says the guy with half my hand up his arse,” Louis says, looking down at his fingers pointedly. He watches the way Harry's body stretches around him as he moves them in and out slowly, pausing to scissor them apart.

“About that,” Harry says, shifting his hips again. “Make it three, please.”

“Can you take three?” Louis asks, glancing up to study his face carefully. “You don't have to rush it. Slow is okay, you know.”

“I can take a whole fist,” Harry says matter-of-factly. Louis swallows hard and decides that _that's_ something to file away for later exploration. “And besides, you have small hands, so.”

Louis' mouth drops open in mock offence, pulling away so he can twist a third finger into Harry's hole. “I do not,” he says. “You just have...a big body. Or something.”

“I like your small hands,” Harry says defensively. “They're delicate and tiny. They're cute.”

“My hands are not _cute_ ,” Louis says, but he's laughing. “They're rugged and manly. Tell me they're rugged and manly.”

Harry lets out an exaggerated, obviously fake moan, jerking his hips up twice. “Oh baby, your rugged, manly hands are such a turn on,” he says, grinning for all the world like he's just told the best joke anyone's ever heard.

Louis laughs anyway, because he can't _not_ , not when Harry's eyes are shining like that and his dimples are carving deep craters into his cheeks. There's far too much talking and not nearly enough sexing going on, but Louis honestly doesn't even care. It's been too long since he's been with someone that can crack jokes during sex and have that be okay. It's...nice. Refreshing.

“Well now you've really got me going,” Louis says sarcastically. “You're so good at dirty talk, it's blowing my mind.”

“I'll blow _your_ mind.”

Louis rolls his eyes as he pulls his fingers out. “That wasn't even an insult, that's literally what I just said except reworded,” he says, rolling a condom on. “This isn't even chocolate mousse sex anymore. This is like...gummy bears sex.”

“Candy floss sex.”

“Pick n' mix sex.”

Harry lets out a loud bark of laughter as Louis pushes in, hitching his legs up around Louis' waist and pushing a hand back through Louis' hair so he can pull him down into a smiley, toothy kiss. Harry lets out a quiet gasp when Louis pulls his hips back and rolls in slowly, and his ankles tighten around his back to keep him in deep.

“I like pick n' mix sex,” he mumbles into his lips as Louis works his hips in a tight circle. “It's unexpectedly working for me.”

“I think that's just me,” Louis says with a smile. “Being so good at sex and all.”

“You're right, that's probably what it is,” Harry says knowingly. “How could I have forgotten?”

He's tight and hot around Louis' cock, and Louis kind of wants to just snap his hips back and fuck in fast and hard, but that's clearly not what Harry's going for tonight. His legs are like a vice around Louis' waist, preventing him from moving too far in either direction, forcing him to stay buried inside and fuck him in small rocking motions.

“God, you feel so good,” Harry says, arching his neck back and biting at his bottom lip. “Haven't bottomed in ages. I missed having someone inside me.”

Louis bends to lick along his skin, pulls his lip between his own teeth instead to distract him a bit so he has a chance to get a bit more leverage, Harry's ankles slipping on his back. He takes the chance to move his hips a bit, pulling back and rocking forward, searching for the right angle. After a few thrusts, Harry lets out a long moan and goes limp-limbed underneath him

“There, there, shit,” he says, scrabbling at Louis' back and digging his nails into his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, I figured I'd found it when you turned into a puddle of jelly, thanks,” Louis says, licking at a bead of sweat that's pooled between Harry's collarbones.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Harry says through clenched teeth.

He pulls Louis further over him so he can sink his teeth into his shoulder as Louis starts to properly fuck into him, hips snapping forward and hands clenching around Harry's hips to hold him in place. He would feel selfish with the way he's fucking him if it weren't for Harry's moans, muffled in his skin as he bites down harder, baring his teeth as Louis chases his own orgasm, angling Harry's hips up off the mattress to get in deeper with each thrust.

“I'm close, shit,” Louis gasps, using one hand to balance himself against the bed as he fucks him faster, fingers of his other hand reaching to wrap around Harry's cock.

He gets him off with a few quick strokes, Harry coming undone and clenching around him as his back arches off the bed on a choked-off shout.

“Keep going, fuck,” Harry gasps after Louis forces himself to pause, fucking him slower as he comes down. “Harder, c'mon, want to see you come.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, even as he grits his teeth with the effort of keeping still. “I don't want to hurt you if you don't want it.”

“Of course I'm sure,” Harry tells him, eyes going slightly wide as if it's the most ridiculous idea in the world that he _wouldn't_ want to be fucked hard immediately after coming. “Come on, go, seriously.”

Louis moves his hips slowly at first, watching Harry's face carefully. Harry just gives him an encouraging nod and spreads his legs wider, though, so Louis decides to go with it. He's not one to judge, after all, getting off from being held down and spanked.

He rocks back so he's balanced on his knees, hands on the backs of Harry's thighs to push them up into the air as he starts fucking him hard and fast like he's wanted to all along, thrusts pushing Harry up the pillows and rocking the bed so that the mattress creaks under them dangerously. Harry reaches up to wrap his long fingers around the metal slats of the headboard, just winds his wrists around the bars like he's tied up and takes it, and that does it for Louis. His hips stutter against Harry's as he comes on a groan, his whole brain fizzling out for a moment as he jerks through it.

He rolls to collapse on the pillows next to Harry with a _whoosh_ , not even worried about the fact that their legs are still overlapping and tangled, sweaty at the end of the bed.

“God,” Louis groans, heart beating a frantic rhythm in his chest as he turns his head to look at Harry, who's laying next to him with his eyes closed and a hand rested low on his own stomach, face smooth and blissed out and happy. “You're basically incredible. Has anyone ever told you that before? You're amazing.”

Harry hums in agreement, eyes still closed as he arches his eyebrows and smiles, licking his lips slowly. “So I've heard,” he says quietly. “Not too bad yourself. Solid nine out of ten.”

“Nine...oi, nine out of ten?” Louis scoffs, pulling the condom off his softening cock to throw it in the bin next to the bed. “I was at least an eleven.”

“You'll get an eleven when you don't have to ask me if I'm sure six times during it,” Harry tells him. He cracks open an eye to look over at Louis. “You know that I get off from getting other people off. You can do what you want and I'll like it, probably.”

“That's not...” Louis presses his lips together, reaching out to run a finger through the cooling mess of come and sweat on Harry's chest. “It's not like, free license to just use you. I'm not going to do things that I'm not sure you want just because you like pleasing people, for god's sake. That would be super shitty of me.”

Harry opens his eyes all the way, his expression going slack and unreadable for a moment. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something then closes it, licks his lip and swallows hard.

“I hold back, normally,” he says quietly, clearing his throat. “You asked what I'm normally like, and I don't...there's a reason I don't really do sex on the first date. I have to like, trust people first?” He looks away, eyes focusing on the ceiling, and Louis scoots closer to him on the bed, reaching out to wrap his fingers around his wrist. “Most people never learn what you learned about me. They start taking advantage if they do.”

Louis feels something inside him break at the tone of Harry's voice, and he knows he's been hurt before. He can tell, just from the way the corners of his mouth turn down, and Louis wonders what kind of terrible person could possibly hurt someone like Harry, how someone could use him and spit him out like that. He wonders how many times it's happened that Harry can talk about it in plurals, then he decides that he doesn't want to know.

“Hey, c'mere,” Louis mumbles, tugging at Harry's fingers. “Look at me.” He shuffles closer and wraps an arm around him as Harry rolls onto his side to face him, burying his face against Louis' chest. “I'm not like that, okay?” Louis says quietly, pressing his lips to the crown of Harry's head. “I know we don't know each other that well yet, but that's not me. I won't ever be that guy, I promise.”

“Promise is a strong word,” Harry whispers as he folds his limbs unimaginably smaller so he can press up against Louis' chest.

“Still, though,” Louis says, carding his fingers through Harry's curls and tracing a pattern across his broad back. “I promise.”

They're quiet for a long moment after that, Harry's breathing slowing down until Louis would think he'd fallen asleep were it not for the occasional soft brush of Harry's eyelashes against his collarbones. He doesn't really know what's happening to him, he's not normally a cuddler at all, but he doesn't even feel like moving the six inches it would take to reach for the blanket at their feet and pull it up over them. He's comfortable here and...content.

“You never told me your third rule,” Louis says after a while, scratching fingers through Harry's hair to draw his attention.

Harry inhales deeply through his nose, angling his head back and forcing his eyes open to look at Louis with a sleepy, questioning expression. Louis' face softens into a smile, and he ducks his head to press his lips to the corner of Harry's mouth. Harry hums quietly, tilting his head to nuzzle into the touch, his fingers reaching to slide over Louis' side under.

“The other day,” Louis mutters, kissing along Harry's jaw to press his nose against the warm space behind his ear. “You said you had three rules. You never got around to telling me the third one.”

“I can't tell you the third one,” Harry says with a smile in his voice. His grip tightens around Louis' hip momentarily, and he shuffles impossibly closer. His words are slightly muffled in Louis' skin when he says, “I guess that means I have four rules.”

Louis rolls his eyes, pressing his grin into the top of Harry's head.

“Are you staying again tonight?” he asks after another moment.

“Only if you want me to.”

Louis takes a deep breath in and keeps a hand in Harry's hair as he shifts to reach for the blanket. Harry looks unsure for a moment, but his face relaxes when Louis lays back down next to him, tugging him close again and pulling the blanket over them both.

“For future reference, people only ask that question when they want you to stay,” he says, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead and closing his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [You Always Make Me Smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grnkCPxdTdU) by Kyle Andrews.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)!


	5. Chapter 4 (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg okay it has AGAIN been so embarrassingly long since i've updated this i'm so sorry everyone wow i am a massive procrastinator and also the literal worst buuuuut a million times thanks to [renee](http://febrularry.tumblr.com) for being my personal cheerleader and for kicking my ass and for putting up with my whininess about this fic like?? she's amazing. 
> 
> also thank you to everyone who commented and who sent me messages on and off anon about this fic you're amazing too!!!
> 
> OKAY OKAY this is part one of chapter four, technically. because it's like........12k already i decided to post this now because after a long and drawn out deliberation (renee's ""gentle"" reminder that it's been literally a month since i updated rip) i/we decided that it's kinder of me to post this now than make everyone wait like another week for a full 20k update or something :((
> 
> so.........enjoy! part two hopefully coming v v soon :))
> 
>  **chapter warnings** : light bondage, undernegotiated kink?? sort of...like there's not really any drama over it they just sort of do it in the moment and then talk about it afterwards idk, spanking, pain kink (but it's not like........the main point of the scene), and a single failed attempt at roleplay
> 
> OH ALSO i can't believe i forgot this part. visuals for [harry's home kitchen (minus the glass wall and plus glass cabinets)](http://design-milk.com/stainless-steel-kitchen-designed-home-chefs/), his [living room](http://www.kitchenziel.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/The-Best-18-Living-Room-Design-With-Classic-Comfort-In-Every-Detail-6.jpg), and his [old flat in [redacted for spoilers] not london](http://www.homeaway.com/vacation-rental/p847371), if you want them :))

Louis wakes several hours later to big, warm hands roaming over his chest and the hard press of a cock against his bum. They must have switched positions at some point during the night, because Harry's arm is thrown over his waist, chest pressed tightly to his back under the thin blanket. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, refusing to open his eyes this early, and he grunts sleepily when he feels Harry's lips press into the crook of his neck.

“You're a morning sex person, aren't you?” he asks after a moment, voice raspy with sleep as Harry gets a hand around his hip and rocks against him, cock slipping along the backs of his thighs.

“Are you not?”

Louis takes another breath in, letting out a quiet hum. He rolls over in Harry's arms with his eyes still stubbornly closed, snuffling against his skin as he burrows into the warmth of his chest.

“I'm a morning sleep person,” Louis tells him softly. “Sleep as late as possible, that's my sex philosophy.”

“I've always felt like people who sleep in are doing it because they don't have a reason to get up,” Harry says thoughtfully. “Like they're not excited about their day.”

Louis reaches blindly for Harry's face, groping around until he can mush his lips together with his fingers. “Hush,” he says. “That's much too deep for six in the morning.”

Harry rocks against him again, their cocks sliding together this time. Louis' twitches in interest, but he refuses to play along, preferring instead to let the rise and fall of Harry's chest lull him back into a half-sleep. When Harry's hand slides over his hip to grip at his bum, he lets out a frustrated puff of air.

“I'm not getting back to sleep, am I?” he asks, finally cracking open his eyes and craning his head back so he can stare up at Harry. “You're very persistent.”

“'M horny, is what I am,” Harry says quietly, grinning down at Louis with bleary eyes. “Good morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis grumbles, pushing at his chest until he's laying on his back. “Just...stay there.”

He summons his strength slowly, yawning with his mouth wide open and rubbing a hand over his eye as he slides down Harry's body under the sheets. Harry spreads his legs so Louis can settle between them, and he eyes Harry's cock curving up toward his stomach, big and heavy against his hip.

“Good morning to you,” he mumbles, taking hold of the base and pumping it up and down a few times so that Harry sighs and shifts above him. “We're going to have to work out an understanding, you and I. This can't go on every morning.”

“Are you talking to my cock?” Harry asks quietly, snuffling out a sleepy laugh. Louis can't see his face from under the blanket, but he can tell he's smiling.

“We're just having a quick chat,” Louis tells him, licking lightly at the head, the salty taste fanning out over his tongue. Harry's hand snakes down under the blankets to thread through his hair, pushing it off his face and cupping the back of his head. “Laying down some ground rules. Nothing for you to be concerned with.”

“Okay.” Harry sighs as Louis licks along his foreskin, fingers reaching down to tug at his balls as he takes the head between his lips. “I'll – ahh – cook you breakfast after, if you want.”

Louis lets his cock slip from between his lips, tonguing around the ridge and pumping a hand along the shaft. “Now there's motivation,” he says, raising his eyebrows and giving Harry's cock a pointed look.

Harry's hand pushes slightly against the back of his head, so he takes it back into his mouth, bobbing a few times to get him slick before easing his way down slowly, swallowing shallowly when the head hits the back of his throat. He breathes through his nose carefully, stomach blooming with warmth when he hears the quiet gasping noises that Harry's making above him. He nudges up against Harry's hand, and Harry takes the hint, loosening his grip so that Louis can come up for air.

“Two dates in with the super chef, and you still haven't cooked for me,” Louis says conversationally as he takes a moment to catch his breath, voice a bit rougher as he squeezes around the base of his cock, twisting slightly just to hear Harry whine. “I'm going to start thinking you're a fraud if you don't prove yourself soon. You didn't even go to cooking school.”

“I'm not a fraud,” Harry says softly, angling his hips off the bed as he tries to get his cock back in Louis' mouth. “And you don't have to go to school to know how to cook. It's just instinct and practise.”

Louis smiles to himself as he licks forward again, fanning his tongue out as he sinks down and swallows against Harry's skin. He feels Harry's fingers tighten in his hair, his thighs clenching around Louis' ears as his balls draw up toward his body.

“I'm gonna come,” he says then, tugging him up by his hair, but Louis refuses to budge, lips tight around the head of Harry's cock, tongue pressing against his foreskin.

Harry lets out a soft whine, scratching back behind Louis' ear as his hips jerk up and he comes in long ropes down Louis' throat. He works Harry through it, doesn't come up for air until Harry's whining and pushing his head away, because he's starting to figure out that Harry sort of likes the oversensitivity of being toyed with after he's already come.

“Get up here,” Harry mumbles after a moment. His voice is deep and sleepy as he tugs at Louis' hair to draw his attention from where Louis has busied himself with sucking a bruise into the inside of Harry's thigh. “Want you to come on my face, then I'll make eggs.”

“Come in your hair as a prerequisite to cooking breakfast?” Louis asks with a raised eyebrow even as he slides up the bed. The cool air that hits his face as he emerges from the blankets is refreshing after being crouched between Harry's legs. “Remind me to never eat at one of your restaurants. I'm going to post a scathing Yelp review right after this. You'll be ruined.”

“No one will believe you,” Harry tells him. He hums happily as Louis kisses him, tongue pushing between Louis' lips to taste himself there, fingers threading back through Louis' hair. He pulls away after a moment, smacking a last kiss against Louis' lips before tugging him further up with a hand wrapped around his bum. “Up. I want you like this.”

“What, with you laying down?” Louis asks as he shuffles up Harry's chest, raising an eyebrow at him. “You want me to sit on your face?”

Harry flushes and he lets out a surprised grunt, licking his lips. “God, yes,” he blurts, eyes gone dark.

“Oh, not – ” Louis lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moves further up so that his cock is bobbing just out of reach of Harry's lips. “I'm still not letting you eat me out. It's going to take you a while to get there.”

Harry licks his lips again, looking guilty. “Sorry, just...I really want to,” he says quietly.

“I know you do,” Louis laughs. “That's my limit, though. That and the not telling people thing are the two rules we actually have to follow, at least for a while.”

“Can I...will you let me get you off like this?” he asks. “I want you to hold me down.” Louis opens his mouth to ask, but Harry cuts him off before he has the chance. “Yes, I'm sure. I like it that way sometimes, when it's with the right person.”

“You get weirdly kinky in the mornings,” Louis mumbles, shuffling closer and reaching down to take hold of Harry's raised wrists. “Has anyone ever told you that before?” He winds Harry's wrists around the slats of his headboard, gripping his hands and holding him there. “Like this?”

“Tighter,” Harry says quietly, licking his lips and craning his neck up to tongue lightly at the head of Louis' cock as Louis adjusts his hold.

“Better?” he asks after a moment, but Harry just huffs out a breath, shaking his head in frustration. “Alright, bloody hell, hang on.” He casts a glance around the room, eyes fixing on Harry's discarded headscarf from the night before, laying abandoned just inside the bedroom door. He presses Harry's wrists into the headboard pointedly. “Stay there.”

Harry keeps his arms raised obediently as Louis releases him to swing a leg over his chest, darting across the room to retrieve the strip of silk. His eyes go dark when he realises what Louis' after.

“Yeah, please,” he says, voice gone deep as he watches Louis climb back over him, crouching to sit back against his chest.

Louis makes quick work of it despite never having tied anyone up before, tongue between his teeth in concentration as he tries to get the job done fast while ignoring his own bobbing erection. He brings Harry's wrists together over his head, winding the scarf tightly around each then binding them together before wrapping the material around the bars behind his head, tying it off to hold him in place.

“Okay?” he asks after a minute, tugging at the scarf to make sure it'll hold.

Harry pulls at the binding, his biceps bulging out with the effort, and he swallows hard when his hands don't budge. “Yeah, that's...'s good,” he says, licking his lips. “Really good.”

“I hope you know how lucky you are, getting your way like this before I've even had my coffee,” Louis tells him, raising his eyebrows and shuffling higher up on Harry's chest so that the head of his cock is positioned just above his mouth.

“Thank you,” Harry says quietly, eyes wide and earnest.

He cranes his neck up, trying to get Louis' cock between his lips, but Louis takes it in his hand instead, pulling it out of his reach and pumping his fist up and down a few times, watching the way that Harry's arms flex as he pulls at his bindings. He's never really done it like this before, but he somehow knows – on instinct, maybe – that Harry wants to be teased.

“You want it?” Louis asks quietly, tapping the head against Harry's bottom lip. Harry whines, licking forward and craning his neck up off the pillow in a futile attempt at getting Louis into his mouth. “Say please. It's only polite.”

Harry stares up at him with blank surprise written across his face, and Louis wonders for a brief moment if he's maybe taken it a step too far, giving Harry an actual command instead of just giving him what he wants. He's about to backtrack and apologise, even lets one of his hands move forward to start to untie Harry's wrists, but Harry jerks his arms away from Louis' fingers before he has the chance.

“Please,” Harry says, licking his lips as his hips angle up off the bed behind Louis, thrusting up into thin air even though he's already come once. “Please.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks after a beat of silence, still half unsure of himself and trying to get back into the rhythm of it, whatever it is that Harry seems to need from him. “You do?”

“Please. Want...I want you, please,” Harry says, voice edged with barely-concealed desperation. He bites at his bottom lip, hooded eyes focused on Louis' cock bobbing just above his mouth like he's mesmerised by it.

Louis hums thoughtfully as he sits back against Harry's chest, feigning disinterest even as his heart beats wildly in his chest and his mind rushes with one long stream of holy shit at the sight of this boy laid out in front of him, tied up and begging for it. Louis' gaze lands on the bottle of lube laying discarded on the nightstand from the night before, just within reach of his fingers.

“I don't know,” he says then, raising his eyebrows at Harry. “D'you think you've earned it, really? You did wake me up before my alarm, after all. I could still be sleeping right now if it weren't for you.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry says quickly, arms pulling against the restraints again. “Sorry, I just – please?”

Louis winds his fingers through Harry's hair, tugging at it to pull his head back on the pillow until his neck is stretched back. Harry's eyes fall closed, a deep, rumbling moan falling from his lips, and Louis struggles to maintain focus as he uses his free hand to reach for the bottle on the table next to the bed, fumbling to tear off a condom from the roll in the open drawer.

“Stay there,” Louis tells him, tugging at Harry's hair once to emphasise his point before releasing him so he has both hands free to pour lube over his own fingers. He pauses for a moment, his pulse racing as he considers Harry laying obedient and motionless in front of him before adding, quietly, “Good boy.”

Harry's eyes fly open immediately, and if Louis weren't entirely sure it was actually impossible, he would think that Harry had come again just from that, judging by the look on his face and the noise that rips from his chest.

“Is that what you wanted?” Louis asks him gently as he reaches behind himself and teases a slick finger over his own rim. “Yeah? Want to hear that you're a good boy?” Harry whines high in his throat, head still angled back as his adam's apple bobs erratically with the way he swallows. Louis pushes his finger inside, making quick work of adding a second to stretch himself out. He hasn't checked yet, but he's banking on Harry getting hard again just from this. “You are, you know. Such a good boy.”

Harry's cheeks colour with a pleased flush of pink, and he lets out a whimpering noise, his hips jerking up off the bed again as Louis adds a third finger. He watches with wide eyes as Louis works himself down on his own hand, wrist cramping slightly from the angle, his free hand pressed into Harry's chest for balance. Harry almost looks like he's going to cry with relief when Louis pulls his fingers from himself and shuffles back down his body on his knees, hand reaching behind him to roll the condom down over his cock.

“Look at me,” Louis tells him in a sharp voice, and Harry obeys instantly, shifting the angle of his head so that he can stare hard at the place where Louis' positioned himself over his cock. Louis feels a bit like he's strapped to a speeding train that's jumped its track, but he can tell that there's something about this that's really working for Harry, and that's making it work for him almost as much.

“You're gonna watch me get myself off,” he says then, watching carefully for Harry's reaction to make sure that this is still okay, that this is really what he's after. “And if you can be a good boy and stay still, I'll come on your face like you wanted.” He pauses, thighs beginning to burn from the way he's balancing himself, one hand gripping the base of Harry's cock behind him and the other braced against his chest. “Is that...I mean, is that okay?”

“Yeah, fuck,” Harry says under his breath, biting at his lip. “That's...fucking hell. Please.”

Louis swallows hard and nods once, almost like he's reassuring himself, before he rubs a spot of lube down the length of Harry's cock, dragging the tip across his stretched hole. The head catches against his rim, and Louis' breath hitches, nails digging into the skin of Harry's chest as he sinks down slowly. He lets a long stream of air hiss out through his teeth as he goes, Harry filling him up until he's fully seated against his lap, legs spread out on either side of his hips. He curls his toes at the feeling of being split open like this, Harry's cock big and hard and throbbing inside him.

It's...he doesn't mind topping, actually kind of prefers it sometimes. He sometimes likes the way he can make a guy come apart just by fucking into him, but it's different like this. Last night wasn't bad, but it hadn't really...it didn't work for him nearly as much as this, sitting himself down on Harry's cock and feeling the ache and pull of it in his thighs and lower back, knowing he's going to still be feeling it all day at work today. His cock twitches in front of him at the thought of what it's going to be like to sit at his desk and take meetings all day with his arse still all stretched and aching from this.

Something had just felt off last night, is the thing, like they didn't quite click the way they had the first time, and this feels...this is like they're speaking the same language again. Louis falls forward to brace both his hands against Harry's chest, letting his nails dig sharp crescent shapes into the flushed skin of his collarbones as Harry moans under him, muscles in his arms flexing tight against his bindings as he struggles not to fuck up into the heat of Louis' body.

“You're being so good, baby,” Louis tells him quietly, the pet name tumbling from his lips as he watches the way that Harry's throat bobs as he swallows, a soft whimper falling from his lips as he pulls against the scarf again, eyes locked on Louis as Louis lifts halfway off his cock and sinks back down again. “Such a good boy for me, being so still like I asked. You're doing so well.”

“Please, Lou,” Harry says in a high voice, knuckles white as he grips tight to the metal bars behind his head. “Please, please, please. ”

“Please what?” Louis asks, bouncing on his cock a few times, feeling the stretch of it, like Harry's reaching into all sorts of places that Louis could never even dream of reaching on his own. “Tell me what you want.”

Harry flushes a darker shade of red, shaking his head back and forth on the pillow, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He looks like he's struggling to maintain eye contact as Louis stills in his lap, frowning at the suddenly-nervous expression on his face.

“What is it?” he asks, softer this time, voice gentler as he reaches out to brush a stray ringlet off Harry's sweaty forehead. “Tell me what you need.”

“You'll laugh,” Harry tells him in an almost-whisper, so quiet that Louis would struggle to hear him if the room weren't so quiet.

He doesn't think he's ever seen this side of Harry before, the side that's quiet and bashful and not unsettlingly comfortable and zen about sex. Harry blinks up at him, doe-eyed and pink-cheeked, his arms shaking slightly from how hard he's flexing against the scarf.

“Harry, you literally offered to paddle me the first time we had sex,” Louis tells him, dropping the act for a moment as he pets his hands over Harry's chest. “Whatever it is, I'm not going to laugh. Honestly, please? I want to make this good for you.”

Harry swallows, licking his lips and taking a deep, shaking breath in, watching Louis suspiciously for a long moment. When Louis just stares at him, waiting, Harry blinks, his blush deepening as he lets his eyes flutter shut.

“Tell me I'm pretty,” he says quietly, glancing back up so he can fix Louis with a challenging stare. “I want...want you to tell me I'm pretty.”

Louis lets out a surprised puff of air, careful to make sure that it sounds nothing like a laugh as he rocks against Harry again, feeling his cock shift inside him.

“Is that all?” Louis asks, lifting himself up so he can sink back down, warm relief blooming in his chest as he lets his hands slide over Harry's sides, gripping at the small love handles just above his hip bones. “Sweetheart, of course you're pretty. You're beautiful.”

Harry lets out a soft mewling noise, the tense line of his arms relaxing slightly as Louis starts to bounce on him again. His eyes are glassy and almost absurdly green as he watches Louis move over top of him, tongue darting out to lick at his lips again. Louis doesn't know what makes him do it, probably couldn't say for sure if asked, but he reaches up and pushes two of his fingers past Harry's parted lips, hooking them in his mouth as Harry sucks them in greedily, tongue running over his knuckles.

“Good – ” He cuts himself off, mind all reckless and buzzed off the sensation of Harry's tongue getting his fingers all slick and wet. “So pretty like this. So, so pretty,” he says.

Harry reacts to the word instantaneously, hips thrusting up for the first time since Louis started fucking down onto him, cock jerking where it's still buried in Louis' body. He's almost impressed that Harry doesn't come on the spot with the way he moans around the two fingers still hooked in his mouth, eyes hooded and staring up at Louis with his pupils blown wide.

“Oh, careful,” Louis tuts, reaching behind him with his free hand to pin Harry's hips to the bed. “You like that? Like being called pretty when I'm fucking you like this?”

Harry lets out another high-pitched whine, arms flexing, and he does, is the thing. He actually does look pretty like this, eyes shining as the morning sun comes up over the spires of London outside the window of Louis' bedroom, the soft light setting his hair on fire with golden fly-away curls, bright red lips and the pink flush of his skin. He looks like some kind of pornographic Renaissance painting, like a sketch come to life from the pages of DaVinci's secret notebook full of perfectly-sculpted boys with kinks for being tied down and fucked on a Tuesday morning. Louis starts to wonder which food Harry's chef brain would label this as, but he suddenly knows without even having to ask.

It's strawberries.

He doesn't know how he knows, but this...it's strawberries. It's the colour of Harry's lips and the flush on his cheeks and the way he's whining, soft and high in his throat as Louis works himself down on his cock. The bright taste of Harry still on his tongue and the feel of his teeth digging into the flesh of his fingers and the dark mess of his hair spilling out over Louis' pillows. The easy closeness and understanding between them. Strawberries.

“I want you to come for me again,” Louis tells him, voice quiet in the soft-lit room. “Can you do that for me? Can you come one more time?”

Harry releases the tight suction of his lips around Louis' fingers with a gentle smacking sound, and he blinks long and slow at Louis, eyes heavy as he watches him move.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, can.”

“Be a good...be good then and do it for me, yeah?” Louis asks.

He can feel himself getting close, but he wants Harry to come first, wants to watch the way his face screws up and smooths out before he gets himself off. He wants to come on Harry's face after he's gone all sleepy and heavy from getting off twice in a row, wants to see the blush that colours his cheeks and the way the white mess stands out against the red.

“So pretty when you come,” Louis continues, crooking his fingers in Harry's mouth so that they press down against his tongue. “You've been so good, letting me fuck you like this. You did so well. Come on, come for me.”

“Lou,” Harry whines, muffled around the fingers in his mouth.

His breath is coming in sharp, panting bursts over Louis' hand and his eyes are glassy and wide as he watches Louis bounce on him. His hips thrust up once, twice of their own accord, and he's coming, arms straining against the binds, back arching up off the bed, eyes screwed up tight and teeth clamping down against Louis' fingers, hard enough to leave bruises, almost breaking the skin. The sharp jolt of pain that radiates through his hand and up his wrist makes a groan fall from Louis' lips, and he's dangerously close to coming himself as he keeps working himself down, Harry's cock twitching weakly inside him one last time before his face goes slack and he falls back against the pillows, his arms gone limp over his head.

Louis pulls himself off quickly – with no small effort, since his thighs are trembling from so long spent riding Harry like this – and he shuffles up the bed, knees bracketed on either side of Harry's chest, coming to rest at his shoulders. He almost loses it completely when he pulls his fingers from Harry's mouth and takes hold of his own cock, neglected all this time, but he manages to keep it together as he strokes himself off, twisting harshly at the base and digging his thumbnail into the head like he would if he were getting himself off alone, not even trying to make himself last any longer.

It doesn't take much at this point, not after all that and not with the way Harry's watching him with sleepy, half-closed eyes, lips red and worried and parted in anticipation.

“I'm gonna...” is all the warning he manages before he's coming in streaks, painting over Harry's cheeks and mouth, catching it in his eyelashes and splashing it against his chin.

He works himself over a few more times until it's edging on too much, and he collapses with a groan, rolling to the side so he's laying splayed out on his back, one leg still draped over Harry's abdomen as he comes down, his eyes falling shut and his chest rising and falling slowly. Louis' whole body feels heavy and sated, bone-deep and aching in a way that makes him sure he'll be feeling it all day today. He summons the last of his strength and opens his eyes, reaching up with fumbling fingers to loosen the knots on the scarf that's binding Harry's wrists to the bed.

His arms fall limp as Louis tugs the strip of silk away. Harry bends and flexes his wrists, stretching his arms out in front of him experimentally and reaching to pull the condom off himself. Louis watches with sleepy eyes as Harry's tongue darts out, licking the come from his lips. He raises a hand, running two fingers through the mess on Harry's face and feeding them into his mouth, Harry's tongue swirling around the digits eagerly.

“More please,” Harry says quietly after Louis lets his hand drop away, his voice still in that soft, shy tone that Louis' not quite used to.

He moves closer, leg slipping down off Harry's chest so that it's slotted between them instead, rolling onto his stomach and balancing himself up on his elbows so he can reach out with one hand and clean the mess from Harry's face in long swipes. It's quiet in the room, save for the soft sounds of their breath and the occasional suckling noise of Harry licking the come from Louis' fingers, and it's oddly...peaceful. Like whatever came before has got them both in some strange, soft space, close and intimate, a hot flush of warmth spreading out through his chest. Louis almost wishes it were a weekend, because he honestly feels like he could just lay here in bed with Harry and burn in the feeling of this all day.

“All clean,” Louis says once Harry's finished licking the last of it from his fingers, bending to press a small, closed-mouth kiss to the corner of his lips. “You were amazing. You are amazing.”

“Thank you,” Harry says softly, and Louis knows that Harry is thanking him for more than just the compliment, for more than cleaning his face.

He nudges up into Louis' touch, curling up small and needy under Louis' hands, and Louis reaches out to pet the hair off his face, running a thumb over the sharp cut of his cheekbone and pressing a kiss there.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks after a moment, voice gentle as he lets one hand rub out across Harry's chest soothingly.

“Not yet,” Harry tells him, blinking slowly. “'M still a bit...” He makes a vague fluttering motion with his hand, taking a shaky breath in. “But I'm good. Like...really good.”

“Okay,” Louis says quietly, threading his fingers back through Harry's curls gently. “D'you want some coffee? Or a tea? Or something. Whatever you want.”

“Just water for now, please,” Harry tells him. His eyes look a bit less glassy than they did a few moments ago, but he's still pink-cheeked and his voice is deep and slow, licking his lips and blinking like he's just coming back to himself. “I can get up if you give me a minute.”

“It's alright, I can manage a glass of water,” Louis says with a soft smile. He bends to give Harry a lazy kiss, and Harry hums dazedly, letting Louis lick into his mouth with a soft sound. Louis pulls away slowly, running his thumb over Harry's swollen bottom lip. “Stay in bed as long as you need. No pressure.” He presses his lips to Harry's forehead, stomach fizzling with warmth when he feels the flutter of eyelashes against his chin, Harry's hand coming up to cup the back of his head momentarily. “Are you okay if I get up though? I have to leave for the office in about an hour, and I should probably shower.”

“That's fine,” Harry says, releasing him and offering Louis a slightly bleary smile. “I'm fine, honestly. A glass of water and five more minutes and I'll be back to...whatever, back to throwing whisks or something.”

“Glad to hear it,” Louis says, giving Harry one last kiss, lingering for a moment because he doesn't want to get up, not really.

He pulls away finally, rolling onto his back so he can swing his legs over the edge of the bed and stand. He's a bit wobbly on his legs, thighs shaking more than he'd expected as he shuffles across the room on unsteady feet, bending to pull on a pair of briefs that may or may not be his.

“Louis?” Harry says from the bed just as Louis makes it to the door, voice soft and quiet. He stops and turns, hugging the doorframe and pushing his toes down into the thick bedroom carpet to look back at Harry curled up on his side in Louis' big bed. “Thank you also for...y'know, for what you said last night. That – it meant a lot to me. Just so you know.”

Louis raps his knuckles against the wood of the frame, rocking up on his toes and giving Harry a soft smile, swallowing hard around the sudden, inexplicable lump in his throat at the sight of Harry's open, vulnerable expression. He likes Harry like this, likes the way he's gone all pretty and shy and delicate.

“I meant it,” he says, licking his lips, heart racing. He's feeling so reckless this morning, like Harry's fucked the filter out of him or something. “You're...I don't know what it is, but there's just something special about you. I wouldn't ever do something you didn't want, you know? I couldn't.” He cuts himself off before he can say anything else, before he can go too far and embarrass himself. He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Let me get you some water. I'll be right back.”

He follows the sounds and smells of cooking as he comes out of the shower twenty minutes later, hair styled and still slightly damp, wearing nothing but a fresh pair of pants. He pads down the long hall in bare feet and stops at the entrance to the kitchen, covering his smile with his hand as he watches Harry move in front of the stove.

He's wearing a pair of striped briefs that Louis' pretty sure are his, and it looks like his cupboards have been turned completely inside out judging by the array of ingredients that are scattered around the counters – tomatoes and eggs and a collection of Louis' less-processed looking spices, a strainer full of raw prawns thawing under a stream of cold water in the sink and four thick slices of crusty French bread laid out on a cutting board.

He watches as Harry shakes his hips to the quiet chords of a song playing from the radio in the corner before he pushes off the door frame and comes to stand behind him, arms winding around his waist and pressing his lips to the back of Harry's shoulder blade.

“Hey,” Harry says quietly, one hand coming up to rest against Louis' forearm as he continues to sauté a pan of mushrooms, lifting the skillet and flipping its contents with an easy flick of his wrist. “You smell nice.”

“Mmm, you smell...like sex,” Louis tells him, breathing out a soft laugh.

He scratches his nails over Harry's stomach and kisses his shoulder again before releasing him and moving toward the coffee pot in the corner. There's already a fresh pot waiting for him there, and Louis nearly has to resist the urge to drop to his knees then and there and get Harry off for a third time right here in the kitchen. He makes do with letting out a soft, appreciative noise, stretching on his toes to reach for his favourite mug in the cabinet.

“You'd better be careful,” Louis tells him as he pours his coffee. “I'm going to get used to this very quickly, you know.”

“I think I could be okay with that,” Harry says, flashing Louis a smile as he moves away from the stove to chop an onion.

Louis pulls himself up to sit on the counter as he watches the blur of the knife and sips at his coffee, Harry's motions fluid and natural, almost like the knife is an extension of his own hand. It takes Louis a moment to realise that Harry is watching him back, giving him a small, sleepy smile even as the blade whizzes across the cutting board.

“You’re gonna lose a finger like that,” he mumbles into his mug, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

“No I won’t.”

Louis hums, cocking his head to the side. “I don’t know about that,” he says sceptically. “I can be very distracting.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Harry tells him, smile widening as he returns his focus to the cutting board so he can slide the now-perfectly-diced onions into the sizzling skillet alongside the mushroom caps. “How am I supposed to get any work done at all with you floating through my kitchen?”

“Excuse me, but I believe this is my kitchen you’re currently floating through,” Louis says, arching an eyebrow. “And besides, you’re not even at work. You volunteered. This is volunteer work.”

“A charitable act of service,” Harry says, setting the pan down so he can spin around and face Louis, big hands sliding up the tops of his thighs. Louis opens his legs to let him crowd closer, and Harry’s words are muffled in his lips when he says, “Tax deductible, even.”

Louis breaks away to bury his laugh in the joint of Harry’s neck as Harry runs gentle fingers up his sides, making him shiver and squirm. He locks his ankles around Harry’s back to keep him close, petting his fingers back through his curls as he pulls back to look Harry in the eye.

“I used to have such a crush on you, you know,” he says then, eyes shining as he studies Harry’s face, sleepy eyes and frizzy hair and the slight indent of a pillow still standing out on his cheek. “Before we met, I mean. You can ask Zayn. It was pretty embarrassing.”

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing,” Harry says, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he sways forward to peck a kiss against Louis’ lips. “I think it’s cute. Like your tiny hands.”

Louis’ mouth drops open in fake shock, and he pushes at Harry’s shoulder. “My rugged, manly hands, you mean,” he says, curling his fingers into a fist. “And my rugged, manly crush.”

“And do I live up to it?” Harry asks, letting his dimples pop out on his cheeks. “To your rugged, manly crush?”

“You’re...this is probably ridiculous, but you’re nothing like I thought you’d be,” Louis says, digging his heels into the base of Harry’s spine to tug him closer. “You’re so – you’re different. A lot different, but in a really good way.”

“Yeah, well, wait till you see me in a proper kitchen,” Harry tells him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not normally quite this cuddly when I’m cooking.”

“Oh, you mean Javier doesn’t get this treatment?” Louis asks with a playful smile. “He should file an HR complaint.”

“I think he’d file an HR complaint if he did get this treatment, to be honest,” Harry says as Louis prods fingers into his dimples. He gives Louis a last quick kiss before pulling away to return to the sizzling pan on the stove. “Shame I won’t get to test the theory when I’m in Chicago.”

“When are you leaving again?” Louis asks, kicking his feet against the cabinets idly.

Harry turns to shoot a crooked smile over his shoulder as he reaches for the prawns in the sink. “Thursday,” he says. “Why, are you going to miss me?”

“Just wondering. In case of, you know, business emergencies,” Louis says, but he’s not quite able to hide his growing smile as he stares down into his coffee. “But maybe yes, just a bit.”

“Should we talk about what happened this morning?” Louis asks later that evening as he slides into a cab, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear as he whispers the address of a bar to the driver, the car gliding away from the curb as he pulls the door shut behind him. “We never got the chance to.”

“Was it okay for you?” Harry’s voice asks into his ear. Louis can hear the bustle of the kitchen in the background, all of it blending together into white noise. “I mean, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with it or anything. You seemed into it, but – ”

“I was,” Louis says quickly, eyes widening slightly in earnest even though he knows Harry can’t see him. “I was like...really into it. I’ve just never done it like that before, and – I don’t know, it was kind of intense, I guess, and I just wanted to make sure we’re on, like, the same page. Or whatever.”

“I was too,” Harry says in a slight undertone, smile audible in his voice. “Really into it, I mean. That’s normally the kind of thing you talk about before you do it, but it just…”

“Felt right,” Louis says, finishing his sentence for him and nodding along. “It felt like strawberries.”

Harry lets out a surprised laugh, and Louis can practically picture the way his eyebrows arch up, the way his dimples stand out in his cheeks. He smiles to himself, scratching a finger over the fabric of his dress trousers.

“It was strawberries,” Harry says then, voice warm. “It was totally strawberries. How did you know I was thinking that?”

“I guess we’re on the same page after all,” Louis says, blowing a shaky breath out through his lips. “Or one of us is a mind-reader. Either or.”

Harry laughs again, clear and bright over the clatter in the background. “D’you want to come over tonight?” he asks after a moment of comfortable silence. “To mine this time? I’ve actually had kind of a shit day at work and I could use a bit of fun, to be honest.”

“I have drinks with a client tonight. One of the important guys from ITV,” Louis says, glancing down at his watch. It’s nearly nine now, and he’s running late as is, but he should be done by eleven with any luck. “I could probably be there around midnight, if that’s not too late.”

“So you’ll already be all liquored up and ready to go when I get my hands on you,” Harry says teasingly, his voice a touch quieter as Louis swallows and presses the phone closer to his ear. “You should know that I’ve got some pent-up frustration to work through. You calling me just now is pretty much the only good thing that’s happened to me since I got to work today.”

“Well, I give you a free pass to work out that frustration however you see fit,” Louis tells him, subtly pushing a hand against himself as he feels his cock twitch between his legs. He glances at the driver who is, thankfully, not watching him in the rearview mirror. “Then I’ll get you a glass of wine and let you rant about your shit day as much as you want.”

“A booty call and therapy session all in one,” Harry sighs, and as much as he’s joking, his voice also sounds ridiculously relieved. “You complete me.”

“Alright, Jerry Maguire,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “No need to lay on the rom-com cheese. You’ve already gotten me to break my morning sex ban on multiple occasions.”

“You had me at hello,” Harry says in a syrupy sweet voice.

Louis breaks and laughs, shaking his head as he watches the lights of the city stream by outside the car window, letting his eyes crinkle up at the edges with his smile. “You’re ridiculous, and I’m hanging up now,” he says, voice a touch more fond than he means for it to be. “Text me your address. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Drinks go passably well. It’s not the kind of thing Louis does for fun at all, drink high-end cocktails in a posh bar with a much older man who he barely knows. Pretty much the entire time is spent talking about business, Louis laughing along to his jokes just enough to be professional as his eyes continuously flicker to his watch, waiting for the socially-acceptable two hours to be up so he can make his excuses and duck out.

He just can’t get Harry out of his head, is the thing. He should honestly probably be worried about how quickly he’s gotten attached, keeps trying to remind himself that it’s only been like, twelve hours since they kissed in Louis’ front hall after breakfast, lingering and slow and smiling into each other’s mouths before they went their separate ways for the day.

And it’s...they’re not even a couple. They honestly barely even know each other. But as Louis finally does manage to make his escape from the after-hours meeting, he finds himself thumbing through his texts, declining an invitation for FIFA with the lads in favour of picking up a bottle of top-shelf Pinot Noir and a cheap DVD of Love Actually and a pint of Häagen Dazs from the Sainsbury’s around the corner from Harry’s flat.

The apartment building isn’t exactly what Louis would have expected. He’d sort of been picturing a full lobby complete with doorman and guarded elevators or something, even though that’s not really a thing that people do in Islington, but the unassuming four-story block of flats surprises him nonetheless. He punches the button that’s simply labeled Styles and bounces on his toes as he waits for Harry to let him up.

The door in front of him buzzes after a few seconds, and he pulls it open, making his way up a somewhat-rickety staircase to the top. When he gets there, slightly (embarrassingly) out of breath from the climb, Harry’s already got the door pulled open, blinking at him with a sleepy smile and damp, freshly-washed hair.

“Hey, you,” he says, swaying forward to peck a kiss against Louis’ lips. “Have fun at the bar?”

“It was a work thing,” Louis says, shrugging noncommittally as he noses along Harry’s jawline, breathing in the fresh vanilla scent of his shampoo. “I’d rather’ve been hanging out with you, if I’m honest. Listening to you rant. I brought supplies.”

Harry hums low in his throat, a happy noise that makes Louis’ stomach flutter as Harry leads him further into the flat, closing the door behind them. He reaches forward to pluck the bag from Louis’ hand and peeks inside at its contents.

“You brought me ice cream and Hugh Grant?” Harry asks, and there’s something unreadable and ecstatic in his expression as he looks up at Louis, his smile impossibly wide as he bites at his own bottom lip. “I’m like half-sure that you’re not even real, just so you know.”

“That’s right, Yoda Chef, I’m just a figment of your overactive imagination,” Louis tells him, rolling his eyes slightly. “My sparkling wit and stunning personality, and an arse like this? I’m surprised you’re only just now catching on.”

“Can I still work out my frustrations before the ranting?” Harry asks, giving him a cheesy, lopsided smile. “Is that free pass of yours still valid?”

“Obviously,” Louis scoffs, pressing his lips together to hide his smile. “What kind of booty call therapist would I be if I didn’t let you have sex with me first? Honestly, Harold.”

Harry just laughs as he leads Louis through the front hall and into the living room, and Louis looks around as they go, taking in the flat. It’s cozy and comfortable-looking, but not in the way that those words are usually used by estate agents as euphemisms for “broom cupboard” and “cramped to all hell”.

The couch is big and soft, the kind you could sink into and struggle to stand up, surrounded by an absurd number of scented candles and a large flat-screen television mounted against the wall opposite, tuned into a Pandora station full of the sort of calm indie folk music that Louis would normally laugh at. The soft noise seems to fit the space, though, fits Harry in a way that makes Louis’ stomach bubble with a warm, happy feeling. He kicks off his dress shoes as they pass a cluster of worn leather and suede boots, a set of plain black trainers that are stained with splatters of food and a pair of cozy-looking moccasins. He stops to examine a framed photograph on the wall, a beautiful, laughing young woman with long dark hair, stomach swollen under her bathing suit as she stands on a beach, arms stretched out into the wind.

“My mum,” Harry says quietly, coming up behind Louis and lacing strong arms around his waist. “She was only twenty when she had me.”

“She’s beautiful,” Louis tells him, leaning into the warm, solid weight behind him. “Are you an only child?”

“No, I’m the youngest,” Harry says, bending to press a kiss to the joint of Louis’ neck. “I’ve got an older sister and a stepbrother as well. But that’s me in there.”

Louis breathes a quiet laugh through his nose, angling his head so Harry can nip his way up to his jawline. “I’m the oldest of mine, but I get it,” he says. “My mum was nineteen when she had me. I can’t even imagine. I was a shithead at nineteen. Still am, if I’m honest.”

“Never,” Harry says, laughing quietly. “You’re fit and nice and kind of wonderful. Definitely not a shithead.”

“You didn’t know me as a teenager,” Louis says. He turns in Harry’s arms to look up at him, warm smile on his face as he gets a hand around his chin and angles Harry’s head down for a kiss. “I was a tit.”

“Well you’re not a tit now,” Harry says firmly, hands snaking around to squeeze at his bum through his trousers. “But I would like to see your tits. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t even have tits to see,” Louis says, laughing even as he begins to unbutton the stiff collar of his dress shirt. “How long has it actually been since you’ve been with a bloke? I think you’ve forgotten some basic points from anatomy lecture.”

“I left school when I was sixteen,” Harry deadpans, patting a light smack against Louis’ bum. “Never took anatomy. Although, not all women have tits. Not all blokes don’t have tits. So...moot point.”

“Be that as it may, can we please stop saying tits?” Louis asks around his laugh. “It’s definitely not a sexy word. Significantly less sexy than other words you could be saying right now.”

“Less sexy than ‘get your arse into the kitchen’?” Harry asks.

“Was that your attempt at a sexist joke?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows.

“No, that was my attempt at saying ‘I had a shit day at work and I want to bend you over a kitchen counter and fuck out all my frustrations’. Please,” he adds, smiling innocently.

Louis swallows heavily, licking his lips. “Alright, then,” he says, voice gone slightly off-pitch against his will as he feels his cock thicken in his pants. “Yeah, definitely more sexy than tits. Definitely.”

“And then I want to drink too much red wine and eat an entire pint of ice cream and then probably ride you while Hugh Grant plays on the telly,” he continues conversationally, taking hold of Louis’ hand to lead him toward the enormous, sprawling kitchen. “That’s my big plan for the evening.”

“Sounds like a banger of a third date to me,” Louis says as he takes in the kitchen around them.

He’s not even much of a cook, eats takeaways more days than not and rarely makes anything from scratch, but even he can appreciate the care that’s gone into this particular part of Harry’s home, the beauty of the stainless steel and the well-loved copper pots that hang from a suspended rack over the centre island. The cupboards that line the walls are all glass-doored and sleek, filled to the brim with exotic spices and strangely-shaped jars, and Louis’ not sure if he could name even half of them if pressed.

“Fuck me,” he says quietly, letting out a low whistle.

“That’s the goal,” Harry laughs, crowding up behind him so that Louis’ front is pressed against the edge of the centre island. “The goal of pretty much everything, to be honest.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Louis says flatly, rolling his eyes even as his hands move to tug at his belt, fingers slipping against his zipper. “Remind me again why this has to go off in the kitchen?”

Harry pushes at the hem of his shirt until he gives in and finishes unbuttoning it, the loss of the starched fabric a relief after all day spent in a suit. The shirt falls to the floor, and Harry’s warm chest presses up against his back, skin on skin sending a shudder up Louis’ spine.

“I’d’ve fucked you bent over the prep table at the restaurant,” Harry says in his ear, his voice a low rumble that sparks a sharp spike of arousal in Louis’ stomach. “Health and safety said no, but…” He trails off, running a hand over Louis’ bum as Louis finally gets his trousers and pants down. “This is the next best thing.”

“Lovely,” Louis says, trying to sound sarcastic but hitting closer to ridiculously-fucking-turned-on as he bends forward to rest his elbows and forearms against the countertop, bare arse pressing back against the hard line of Harry’s clothed cock. When Harry doesn’t make a move, Louis cranes his neck around to look over his shoulder. “Well, are you going to spank me or are you just gonna talk about it all night?”

Harry drags his eyes up from where they’re glued to the curve of Louis’ bum. “Do you have any idea how good you look like this?” he asks instead, running a hand down the centre of Louis’ back, long fingers digging into the divots of his spine and coming to rest against his arse, gripping at the skin there. “Jesus, you’re just…” He trails off as he runs a shaky hand back through his hair. “Fuck, I want to eat you out so bad.”

Louis turns back around, dropping his head between his braced arms so he can press his smile into the muscle of his bicep, splaying his hands out on the countertop in front of him and blowing a shuddering breath out through his teeth. He swallows heavily, throat bobbing as he feels Harry move away behind him.

“How much?” Louis asks then, closing his eyes because he can’t even hardly see straight from how keyed up he is. “How bad do you want it? Tell me what you’ll do to me when I let you.”

Harry’s behind him immediately, big hands curling around his waist and hauling him back, soft sweats off so that his cock slips along the backs of Louis’ thighs. He digs his fingers in sharply before pulling his hand away, and Louis’ toes curl against the cool tile of the kitchen floor in anticipation.

“I’d get down on my knees right here and eat you like this,” he says, bringing his hand down in a sharp smack that makes Louis jolt forward and let out an embarrassingly needy noise. “I’d let you ride my face, too. Tie me up like this morning and – ” He spanks him again, and Louis presses his face into the curve of his arm, sinking his teeth into the skin there to tamp off his moan. “And just fucking take. I’d let you take whatever you wanted.”

“Fucking hell,” Louis groans, feeling the slippery wetness of Harry’s fingers prodding at his entrance.

He’s still all open and loose from this morning, and Harry’s fingers sink in easily as he lands another smack against Louis’ skin. And he’s...he’s twenty-six fucking years old, but it’s like...he didn’t even hardly know sex could be like this, didn’t know it could feel this good and overwhelming and all-consuming, didn’t know he was missing out on so much until this. And this, it’s...fuck, it’s everything. It’s Harry’s deep voice and the way his hands feel against Louis’ skin and the burn and stretch of Harry adding a fourth finger in him, rough and quick and fucking...fucking perfect, and where the fuck did he even get lube, of course Harry has lube stashed somewhere in his pristine Yoda Chef kitchen, probably a roll of condoms hidden in the spatula drawer or something.

Of course.

“God, just get in me already,” Louis says through clenched teeth as Harry spanks him again, his skin on fire and his cock jerking against his stomach. “I want you to fuck me. Like, rough. I want it rough.” He swallows heavily, arching his back into a curve so his arse is pressed into the air. He’s desperate, embarrassingly so, but he can’t help smiling as he feels Harry’s hand squeeze at his waist, his touch gentle and affectionate in sharp contrast to the way it’s been so far. “Pretend I got in your way at work or something. I don’t know, fucked up your rhythm, burnt dinner. Let your Ramsay flag fly.”

Harry lets out a quiet laugh as he nudges Louis’ feet further apart with one of his own. “Are you asking me to roleplay the angry chef?” Harry asks, amusement colouring his voice as he bends to cover Louis’ back with his chest, arms sliding down to lace his fingers with Louis’ on the countertop. He presses a small kiss between his shoulderblades. “Is that what you want?”

“I want…” Louis bites his lip, head spinning and heart beating wildly against his ribcage as he feels Harry’s lips brush soft against his skin. “Yeah, I – fuck, I didn’t know I wanted that, but...holy shit, yes.” He squeezes his eyes shut, pushing back against Harry almost involuntarily. “Yeah, yes, please do that.”

And Louis didn’t know that he wanted that, not really, but – okay, he had this thing for Harry, way before they ever even met, and it was always like, based around his insane kitchen persona, this guy who somehow managed to still look out-of-this-world fit even when he was red-faced and screaming himself hoarse. And it’s...he doesn’t want that Harry all the time, doesn’t want to wake up in a bed next to him or eat ice cream with him while they talk about their day or stare at the way the candlelight looks reflected in his hair, but he does want...fuck, he wants that Harry to fuck him hard and fast, right here right now, bent over a kitchen counter.

Just for like ten minutes, he wants that Harry.

Harry presses another kiss to Louis’ shoulder, and Louis can feel his lips curving up into a smile as he squeezes their fingers together again. “Okay,” he says quietly, easily, nudging his nose against the base of Louis’ neck. “If you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“What, no safe word?” Louis asks, huffing out a breathy laugh, heavy head hanging between his arms because he just feels so fucking overwhelmed right now. “I vote for broccoli, personally. Hate broccoli.”

“I think ‘stop’ should work,” Harry says, straightening up so that Louis shivers at the loss of warmth. “And broccoli is delicious. You just don’t know how to cook it properly.”

“Is this you being the angry chef?” Louis asks, feigning disinterest as he feels the fat head of Harry’s cock rub against him. “Or is this just Harry being pretentious about vegetables?”

“You’d know if that was the angry chef,” Harry tells him. He grips Louis’ hip suddenly, nails digging into his skin with a sharp bite as he quickly presses himself inside, sliding forward in a fluid motion that makes Louis’ breath catch in his throat, his hands scrambling for something to hold onto as Harry bottoms out. “Because you wouldn’t dare call me Harry to my face in a kitchen.” He pulls almost all the way out before snapping forward again, one hand pushing down against the centre of Louis’ back to keep him pinned in place as he picks up a bruising pace. “You think you can just come in here and make jokes? Think this is a fucking game?”

“I’m – fuck, I’m sorry,” Louis gasps out as he feels Harry’s nails dig into his skin. He doesn’t know what the scenario is here, doesn’t know what the hell it is that he’s fake apologising for, but it seems to be the right thing to do, earns him a swift smack to his arse that makes him rock up onto his toes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix that mess of a plate you gave me,” Harry says in a rough voice, pushing harder against Louis’ back so that his face presses down into the countertop. “You’ll be lucky to find a job flipping burgers in a school cafeteria if you pull a stunt like that with me again.”

And Harry’s hands are still all over him and biting into his skin, hips moving at a breathless pace that makes it almost impossible for Louis to keep his balance, filling him up and fucking him just hard enough that it’s almost too much, and he tries to press his lips together to keep in the noise, closes his eyes and tries to concentrate but...

“Are – are you laughing?” Harry asks, slightly incredulous, rhythm faltering as amusement breaks through his facade.

“Sorry, shit, sorry,” Louis says around the burst of giggles that fall from his lips as soon as he opens them. He presses his hand against his mouth, biting at the joint of his thumb as he tries to keep the laughter inside. “It was...I just started, fuck, I pictured my old dinner lady just then.”

Harry stops moving against him altogether at that, and Louis cranes his head around to look at him, unable to keep the laughter in as he takes in Harry’s expression – mouth hanging slightly open, forehead wrinkled in confusion, lips curling up into the hint of a smile.

“Unbelievable,” Harry says quietly, shaking his head. He laughs then too, eyebrows raising toward his hairline. “I can’t believe you’re thinking about the school dinner lady while I’m fucking you.”

“It wasn’t on purpose! I’m just… bad at roleplay,” Louis admits. “It sounds hot in theory but then it just gets kind of ridiculous when it actually starts going.” He shifts his hips. “But you’re not. Fucking me anymore, I mean, which is a problem I’d like us to fix.”

Harry rolls his eyes but moves his hips back anyway, pushing in with a bit less force than before. “How dare you laugh at me in my kitchen,” he says, but it’s his Harry voice instead of his chef voice, and this time, Louis doesn’t try to hide his laugh.

Hugh Grant is just starting to wax poetic about love and Heathrow Airport as Louis settles himself down in the L-shape of Harry’s massive, soft-cushioned couch, his toes curling comfortably into the cushions as Harry pushes in next to him, dragging a blanket up over their laps as they shuffle around with spoons and pillows and ice cream and the unopened bottle of wine.

“This is my favourite film,” Harry tells him quietly as they watch Bill Nighy fucking up Christmas lyrics in an absurdly loud-patterned shirt. “I used to...when I was cutting my teeth in Paris and living in a shitty little flat in the eighteenth, I used to watch it every night to help me fall asleep. It made me less homesick.”

“You lived in Paris?” Louis asks as he attempts to pry the cork from the bottle with an annoyingly minimalist wine key.

“Yeah, for about a year and a half?” Harry says. He pulls the bottle from Louis’ hands and opens it easily, wrist flexing as he twists the corkscrew and pulls it out, tossing it in the direction of the coffee table. “It was when I was like sixteen until I was almost eighteen. I’d been working in a local bakery for about two years up North where I’m from, and…” He trails off as he lifts the bottle to his mouth, taking a gulp of wine before passing it back to Louis. “And I met a chef through the owner. He offered me a shot, and I took it. Never looked back.”

“And your mum just let you go,” Louis says, raising an eyebrow. “You were sixteen, and she just let you move away from home like that?”

Harry shrugs easily, eyes tracking the motion of the bottle against Louis’ lips as he takes a drink. It tastes like blackberries and moonlight, fanning out over his tongue and making him feel warm all over despite the cool breeze from the open window and the fact that they’re both wearing nothing but their pants, hair still damp from the shower they shared just a few moments ago. He slides further down into the soft cushion of the couch, pulling the blanket up over them more as Harry pries the lid off the carton of smooth caramel ice cream.

“I’d just finished my GCSE’s and I didn’t really want to go for my A Levels,” Harry says around the spoon in his mouth. “I probably would’ve wound up a lawyer or something if she hadn’t let me go to France. I would’ve been miserable.”

Louis watches his profile as Harry fixes his eyes on the screen for a moment, watching the wedding scene play out as he eats another spoonful of ice cream. “So what did you do in Paris, then?” he asks after a moment. “Just cooked? Watched Love Actually six hundred times?”

“Well, that and ate my way through the city. Took trips to the coast, toured vineyards in the North.” He steals the wine bottle from Louis’ hands as if to make his point, trades him for the ice cream and pulls a long mouthful from the neck of the bottle. “Lost my virginity to a French girl, fell in love. Or, you know, what I thought was love. Had a fling with a butcher’s son, got my heart broken. Twice.”

“Jesus, when I was that age, I just played a lot of Nintendo and chickened out of an X Factor audition,” Louis says.

“You sing?” Harry asks, small smile curving his lips as he cocks his head at Louis.

“Used to,” Louis corrects, swallowing a mouthful of ice cream. “I used to try to write songs, actually. Thought I could make someone fall in love with me to guitar chords and soppy lyrics.”

Harry breathes a quiet laugh out through his nose, taking another drink of wine before passing the bottle back to Louis, making grabby hands for the ice cream until Louis relents and gives it over.

“What made you stop, then?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows. “Writing music, wooing the men of the North? Sounds like a pretty sick gig if you ask me.”

“I guess I…” Louis says, trailing off as he spins the wine bottle between its hands, thumb brushing over the raised lettering of its label. “I guess I just never found the right boy. It was more like, maybe I was wooing them, but none of them ever felt like the one I wanted to write songs about. They didn’t...inspire me or whatever.” He shakes his head, swallowing around a sudden, embarrassing lump in his throat. “It’s stupid. Nevermind. That was years ago, anyway.”

“It’s not stupid,” Harry says, widening his eyes slightly. “Not at all. It’s...sweet. It’s really sweet.”

“I don’t want to be sweet though,” Louis tells him. He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I want to be like...I want to be the kind of person who has a lot of mind blowing sex and who’s like, passionate, you know? But I’ve always been too much of a romantic for that. It always just turns dry or something.”

“Oi, from my end, the sex has been pretty mind blowing so far,” Harry tells him, nudging his toes against Louis’ ankle and giving him a silly, lopsided grin. “And anyway, it doesn’t have to be all one or the other, passion or romance. You can have both, you know. It’s best when there’s both.”

“Is that part of your sex philosophy too,” Louis asks, laughing under his breath, “or is that something the butcher’s son taught you?”

Harry just rolls his eyes, cuddling in against Louis’ side and resting his head down against his shoulder so that Louis feels the soft tickle of curls against the underside of his chin. He wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulder and tugs him closer, and he wonders idly whether the warmth fizzling in his stomach is actually from the bottle of wine or if it’s from something else. They’re quiet for a while as they watch the movie playing on the screen in front of them.

“It’s something I’ve just recently started to figure out, actually,” Harry says after a long moment, voice hushed and eyes still fixed on the screen as he reaches up to lace his fingers with Louis’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from [you always make me smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grnkCPxdTdU) by kyle andrews
> 
> im on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)!!


	6. Chapter 4 (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dsjgdlkjfgh EVERYONE HAS BEEN SO AMAZING ABOUT THIS FIC wtf
> 
> yes okay so you guys are seriously, seriously awesome and thank you so much for all your super kind words about this, both on anon and off!!!!!!!! you're incredible!!! (also special shoutout to [alice](http://intenselouis.tumblr.com), [jess](http://whitechimes.tumblr.com), [renee](http://febrularry.tumblr.com), and [tish](http://theshadytimeline.tumblr.com).......you guys rock. so hard.)
> 
> okay so this chapter (or i guess technically this second half of chapter four, but whatever, technicalities) takes place over the space of a few weeks, so sorry if it feels a little rushed?? i think it works, but i hope it doesn't feel too quick. i really needed to get them out of london and to the point where they're about to start filming, or the story would never go anywhere and would just devolve into one long string of plotless sex scenes. ANYWAY
> 
> there really aren't any chapter warnings for this...
> 
> a semi-disorganized, unnecessarily long list of links which are relevant to this chapter if you're someone who likes visuals: [bar boulud](http://www.barboulud.com/london/menu/), [sophia's ~dream dress~](http://www.selfridges.com/en/roland-mouret-keiko-one-shoulder-wool-crepe-top_417-2001420-KEIKO6161/?previewAttribute=Hot+pink), [the floral scarf](http://www.selfridges.com/en/valentino-floral-print-silk-scarf_173-84023422-JT2EB007SPG/?previewAttribute=Black%2Fmulti) (you'll see), lmao the [ridiculous list of restaurants](http://www.selfridges.com/content/london-restaurant-guide) which exist inside the london selfridges, a [99 flake](http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/41590_76377361333_6993290_n.jpg) in case you don't know what that is, and [ripple](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=671AgW9xSiA) by the grateful dead (this song is so important to me............it was my parents' wedding song and also the song i listened to on repeat while writing this chapter)
> 
> enjoy!!

It’s early Thursday morning and the city is just beginning to wake outside Louis’ kitchen window, the sun rising fast like it always does in the summer, and the taste of banana french toast and a slightly ill-advised bellini is still fresh on Louis' tongue as Harry sucks a sticky-sweet kiss into the curve of his neck.

“Don’t go,” Louis breathes, his hands firm as he traces his fingers over the shape of Harry’s body underneath his shirt. “Tell them you’re sick. Accidentally miss your flight.”

Harry snuffles a quiet laugh into his skin, rolling his hips down until he’s fully seated in Louis’ lap in the kitchen chair, legs splayed out on either side of his hips. He rocks against him, moving his hips in a tight circle and keeping Louis buried deep, nails dragging up his back and sending shocks down his spine. He lets his fingers trail to the deep bruise he’d sucked between Louis’ collarbones the night before, pressing his thumb in and making Louis gasp and jerk his hips up.

“I have to,” he says then, pulling back from Louis’ neck so he can sway forward and nip his teeth against Louis’ bottom lip, teasing little kisses that make Louis whine in the back of his throat. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You’ve always got a choice,” Louis tells him as he reaches up to get a hand around the back of Harry’s neck and tug him forward, and Harry lets out a quiet laugh into the kiss.

“That was very deep,” he mutters into Louis’ lips, licking into his mouth as he lifts his hips up and drops back down, bouncing on Louis’ cock and pulling a soft moan from the back of his throat. “Who’s the zen and philosophical one now?”

“You’re...fuck, you’re rubbing off on me,” Louis gasps, and all his nerves feel like they’re on fire with the way Harry’s riding him, slow and deep like he wants to keep him inside forever. “I’ll be buying organic soon if I’m not careful.”

“Organic tastes better and has more to it,” Harry says absently as he lifts up and drops down again, nails digging into Louis’ chest in a sharp bite. “Way better to cook with. You get more out of it.”

“Fuck, why is it always so hot when you break out the kitchen dirty talk?” Louis asks, shaking his head. He wraps his hands around Harry’s hips to guide his movements, lifting him up slightly and pulling him back down. 

“Oh, just wait ‘til you really get me going,” Harry says around a breathy laugh, clenching around Louis’ cock. “I could go on for hours about the proper ways to use saffron.”

“I’ve never even had that,” Louis says, rolling his hips up to meet Harry’s as he pulls him down again. “I don’t even know what it tastes like.”

“It tastes like this,” Harry tells him, pressing their foreheads together as he grinds his hips down against Louis’, breath fanning out over his cheeks. “Bright and electric and so...so fucking good that you feel like you’re going to die. It tastes earthy and it tastes like honey and like the sea. It’s complex and fascinating and you can’t ever figure it out no matter how hard you try.”

“ You can’t say things like that,” Louis says in an undertone, eyes fluttering shut as his cheeks colour with the overwhelming surge of  _ something _ that rushes through him. “You just...people don’t  _ say  _ things like that.”

“I do,” Harry says, matching his tone. “I do, and I mean it. Every time I learn something about you, it just makes me want to know more.”

Louis’ hands clench tighter around his hips at that, and his mouth drops open on a cut-off moan as he holds Harry in place, thrusting up twice, involuntarily, before he sinks sharp teeth into his shoulder and comes, surprising even himself with the force and suddenness of it. He gets a hand around Harry, wrapping his other arm around his back to keep them held close as he tugs at his cock, pulling him over the edge so that he clenches around him and comes hard against Louis’ chest.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes after a moment, letting his head fall forward to rest against Louis’ shoulder. He lets out a helpless little laugh, turning his face to press a closed-mouth kiss to the curve of Louis’ neck.

“What?” Louis asks, smiling as he runs his hands up Harry’s back, feeling the thin, silky-smooth material of his shirt.

“You’re just...how is it even possible that every way with you is like – ” He kisses Louis’ neck again before lifting off his cock and standing on unsteady legs. “So good. It’s always so fucking good.”

“I’m a sex god,” Louis tells him, a failed attempt at hiding the grin in his voice as he pulls the condom off himself. “Clearly. I mean, there’s really no other explanation.”

“Obviously,” Harry deadpans, glancing up as he steps into his trousers. 

He bounces on his toes as he tries to drag the painted-on material up his thighs, and Louis can’t help but snort out a tiny laugh at the sight of his cock flopping back and forth ridiculously. He watches curiously as Harry tucks himself into his jeans, wincing slightly at the drag of the zipper.

“What, no pants?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You absolute slag. Thinking of joining the mile-high club on this trip?”

Harry gives him a lopsided grin, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek and running a hand back through his long curls. 

“How do I look?” he asks, holding his arms out and twirling around in a circle, barefoot against the smooth tile of Louis’ kitchen floor. “Presentable? Intimidating?”

“You look like you just hopped off a cock and into your jeans, if I’m honest,” Louis tells him, standing to tug his pants back on and carry their empty breakfast plates to the sink. He turns to lean back against the counter, watching Harry with a smile on his face. “So like, pretty great.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow as he takes a few steps toward Louis, hands settling low against his hips as he leans forward. He takes Louis’ earlobe between his lips, scraping his teeth over the skin there, and Louis’ breath catches in his throat. “You like knowing I’m still all open from your cock? I can feel you still, you know, from this and from earlier in bed. I’ll be able to feel it on the plane all day.”

Louis’ hands move up to his hair, pulling him into a kiss with a hand wrapped firm around the bottom of his chin. It’s the filthy sort of kiss that always somehow feels like it’s leading to more, sloppy and full of tongue, Harry grunting and crowding forward as he pushes his hands under the elastic at the back of Louis’ briefs, palming the skin of his arse roughly and pulling him up to sit on the counter. Louis locks his ankles behind Harry’s back to hold him close as he angles his head down into the kiss, hands mussing through his hair and making his curls go wild with it.

“God, we have to stop,” Louis gasps after a moment, pulling away to suck in a breath as Harry mouths at his neck like he’s starving for it, like they haven’t already had sex twice this morning. His heart is beating out a frantic rhythm in his chest, and his eyes fall closed at the feeling of Harry adding another mark to the necklace of lovebites that already frame his throat. “You’re already like twenty minutes late. We don’t have time for another go.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to leave,” Harry says quietly, grinning into his skin. “I could accidentally miss my flight. It was your idea, after all.”

“And I have very good ideas,” Louis tells him, tugging at his hair to draw his attention. He presses another kiss to Harry’s lips, gentler this time and licking out to taste the lingering sweetness of prosecco and peaches. “But hiding an international super chef in my flat for three weeks might not actually be my best idea in practise.”

“See, this is why you’re the boss and I’m just the pretty face,” Harry says, dimple popping on one cheek as he raises an eyebrow at Louis.

“Yes, and you are very, very pretty,” Louis tells him softly, pressing kisses to his lips between words. Harry’s cheeks colour pink with his blush and he bites at his bottom lip to hold in his smile. “The prettiest. And the best. And you’re going to have an amazing time in Chicago yelling at Americans, and I’ll be in London missing you and buried in work.”

“You’re going to miss me?” Harry asks quietly, his voice suddenly gone slightly shy.

Louis hums in agreement, pushing Harry’s hair off his face with one hand and thumbing over his cherry-red bottom lip. “Yeah, I think I will.”

  
  


“What, so are we mates with Brad now?” Zayn asks late Friday night as Louis comes back to their outdoor table with a fresh round of pints. “Is he our newest bro?”

Louis lets out a laugh and glances over his shoulder to where Brad is standing inside, leaning against an exposed brick pillar next to the bar and attempting to chat up a guy with a dark undercut and stovepipe jeans. 

“I dunno, but he’s about to strike out, I can tell you that much,” Louis says in an undertone. “That guy’s as straight as they come.”

“Why, you already try and get rejected?” Zayn asks, putting on an exaggeratedly sympathetic tone and batting his eyelashes. “Poor little Louis.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says, rolling his eyes as he sinks into his chair. “For your information, I’m not even been looking to pull tonight. A few pints and my own bed is about all I’m interested in.”

“And who’s keeping that bed warm while you’re out with the lads and not pulling?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow at Louis over the rim of his pint glass. 

“What?” Louis asks, frowning and letting out a confused laugh. “No one. What are you on about?”

“Don’t even try to lie. Liam already told me,” Zayn says loftily. “I’m assuming that date was the same as the ‘work thing’ you were being so cagey about last weekend?”

“Was that only last weekend?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. “Feels...wow, it feels like longer.”

Zayn just hums, nodding his head. “Yep, I’d know that look anywhere,” he says. “That’s the ‘Louis has a new secret boyfriend’ look.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Louis says quickly, then realises what he’s said and instantly kicks himself for it.

Sure enough, Zayn’s face lights up. He sets his beer down and leans forward in his seat, tapping out two cigarettes from the pack in front of him on the table. He lights them both then passes one to Louis, his eyes flashing. 

“ So there  _ is _ a boy,” he says, blowing a stream of smoke out from between his lips. “A boy who’s not your boyfriend but who has absolutely no qualms about making sure everyone knows…” He trails off as he reaches forward and tugs at the collar of Louis’ shirt, revealing the long string of bruises that trail along his collarbones. “That you’re at least semi-taken. Fuck, are you hooking up with a vampire or something? Who is this guy?”

“A really good shag, that’s who he is,” Louis says, fidgeting away from Zayn’s fingers. He adjusts his shirt so that it covers the marks again. “And like...really easy to talk to? And kind of great. I don’t know, we just – we get on really well.”

“If he’s so all-around wonderful, why haven’t we met him yet?” Zayn asks, but his tone is gentle. They’ve known each other for way too many years for Zayn to be surprised or offended by Louis’ tendency to keep his relationships hushed.

“Just...give it a while,” Louis says, smiling to himself. “You’ll get to know him eventually, I promise.”

  
  


“It’s so hot here,” Harry whines through the phone as Louis flops back onto the couch on Tuesday evening in nothing but his pants, feet propped up on the table in front of him and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps in his lap. “And humid. My hair keeps going all frizzy and gross every time I go outside.”

“So wear it up in that bun thing you always do,” Louis tells him, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he fishes for the remote between the couch cushions. 

“What, the one I do when I’m sleeping?” Harry asks. “I can’t wear it like that in real life. It looks dumb on me.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He locates the remote and presses the button to turn the telly on, flipping through channels until he finds the match. “It makes your cheekbones look pretty.”

“Well, I don’t have a hair band with me, so…” Harry says, but Louis can hear the pleased little smile in his voice as he says it.

“You’re a millionaire,” Louis tells him absently, watching as Rooney makes a failed attempt on goal. “Go buy one. Or twenty.”

“It might help in the kitchen,” Harry says thoughtfully. “Like, the scarves basically just keep it out of my eyes, but they don’t do anything for keeping it off my neck.”

“The scarves are good for more than just that,” Louis says, scratching a finger over the bare skin of his thigh, the corners of his mouth twitching up at the memory. “You’d better be bringing your whole supply to New York or I’ll probably break into your flat just so I can bring them myself.”

“You’re gonna use them again, then?” Harry asks, and he’s definitely smiling this time. “The great American tour of sturdy hotel bed frames?”

Louis breathes a laugh through his nose, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. “What are you doing right now?” he asks, scratching a hand over his bare stomach.

“Is this your attempt at phone sex?” Harry asks. “Because before you start, you should know that I’m in a shop right now.”

“No, god,” Louis laughs. “This is me asking you about your day.”

“Oh,” Harry says quietly, and he sounds surprised. “It’s...good? I guess? I mean, d’you actually want to know, or are you just being nice?”

“Erm, both? I think?” Louis says, frowning in confusion. “I actually want to know. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Right, yeah, it’s...yeah, it’s good,” Harry says slowly, the smile creeping back into his voice. “I’ve got an afternoon off for the first time since I got in on Thursday, which is nice. I’ve been working basically nonstop since I got here. It’s been kind of horrible for a few days, but I went and got a massage earlier and now I’m just like...wandering? Sort of. Y’know, shopping, trying to get rid of all the gross stress from the restaurant and no one except Niall pulling their weight in the kitchen. They’ve all been kind of slacking lately, and it’s not like...the food’s not gone to shit or anything, but it’s been a while since I’ve been here, and I think people just got comfortable without me around? Like there was this whole thing between the dining room manager and the head chef that’s so messy I don’t even want to get into it, but it’s all sorted, basically and – and fuck, I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Louis tells him quietly, smiling to himself as he settles further back into the cushions, pushing a button on his remote to mute the television. “I missed your voice. ‘S good to hear you ramble.”

They’ve been texting back and forth since Thursday, silly little nonsense messages and photos of random things. Just this morning, Louis woke up to a picture of the most carefully-constructed plate of seared trout he’d ever seen, followed by a photo of Niall’s sweaty blond hair standing on end in the heat of a sprawling industrial kitchen and one of Harry laying in his hotel bed that had made Louis’ eyes go slightly wide as his sleepy brain tried to process. But they haven’t had the chance to talk properly yet, not with the six hour time difference or with either of their work schedules being so crazy.

“Okay, I – erm, actually, can I ask you a random probably weird question?”

Louis smiles to himself, watching the silent match play out on his screen. “Go for it.”

“Do you like lavender or grapefruit better?” Harry asks.

“As like...foods?” Louis asks, cocking his head to one side. “I didn’t even know you could eat lavender.”

“Of course you can,” Harry says instantly, and Louis has to bite back his laugh. “It’s great with pretty much anything lemon, but also with like...most summer fruits? And honey. It’s really good with honey as well.” He pauses for a brief beat of silence. “But no, not as foods. As like...scents. Like, lotion or whatever. I can’t decide. But I guess technically the grapefruit one is also bergamot, and I don’t really want to smell like a cup of earl grey.”

“My sister always wears shea butter ones, and those smell really good,” Louis supplies.

“Yeah, but the shea one doesn’t have sparkles in,” Harry says. “I like the sparkles sometimes.”

“Lavender it is, then,” Louis says quietly, bringing his legs up to curl them under himself on the couch. “Like lemonade and posh summertime. Grapefruit and bergamot would probably just remind me of my nan.”

Harry lets out a happy, shy little laugh, and Louis feels warm affection bloom in his stomach, his heart jumping in his chest.

  
  


_ Now they’re talking about you _

Louis taps the message out on his phone under the table without looking at the screen, glancing around at the two older men to make sure they’re not watching before he glances down, reading it over quickly and hitting send.

“I don’t even know that he knows how to smile,” the head of publicity is saying. Jones, Louis thinks his name is. “You’ll have to work on softening him up, Tomlinson. We want him to come off as a screaming perfectionist with a heart of gold. That’s the treatment we decided on.”

Louis nods his head slightly, offering a small, professional smile. He knows that, obviously, wrote the damn treatment himself and read it aloud to Harry over the phone two days ago while he was sitting in his office and Harry was still half-asleep in his big hotel bed in Chicago. But these are the network guys, the ones he really has to please. Cowell Productions may be the ones making the show, but the Food Network are the people laying cash on the line to get it done, and they’re only in town for one night from LA. 

“Yes, sir,” he says, reaching for his wine glass on the table in front of him as his phone vibrates where it’s sitting on top of his thigh. “I’ll be sure to take another look at it before we meet with everyone late next week.”

“Good, good,” Griffiths, the big boss, says. “It’s good to hear you’re already moving on this. I know we sort of dropped it in your lap with the acquisition, but we’re all very pleased with the progress your team has made so far.”

“We’ve all been working hard on it,” Louis tells him, letting his eyes flicker down to read his phone screen.

_ > anything good? _

“And Mister Styles has really helped the process along,” he continues. “He’s been very involved. It’s been great working with him so far.”

Griffiths lets out a gruff laugh as Jones rolls his eyes.

“We know he’s a bastard, you don’t have to play nice on that one,” Jones says, taking a sip of his wine. “We almost didn’t pick the show up because he’s such a loose cannon. We were afraid he would hurt ratings rather than help them.”

“If he’s actually been alright so far, you’re one of the lucky few,” Griffiths adds. “But Lord help you if you make it onto his bad side.”

Louis presses his lips into a thin line, working hard to keep the distaste off his face as he hums noncommittally, nodding his head once. The urge to jump to Harry’s defence is almost painfully strong, but he forces himself to stay silent, thumb flying over the screen of his phone under the table.

_ They’re a couple of corporate fucking dicks . Who cares what they have to say ?? _

He sends the text without reading it over, his heart beating in his ears as he swallows down the hot spike of anger, forcing his face to remain neutral. His phone vibrates again as the other two launch into a discussion about median viewership and demographic goals, and Louis glances down again.

_ > so...not good, then?  _

_ One of them told me to avoid getting on your bad side _

He takes a sip of his wine, eyes trained on the opposite wall as he adds,

_ But I sort of like your bad side so … _

He clears his throat, pulling at the tight collar of his dress shirt. 

He hates these after-work meetings, if only because it means that he’s forced to wear a suit for more hours than is probably allowed by the Geneva Convention. His toes are aching in his leather oxfords, and he can’t wait to get home and kick them off and maybe even cream Liam at FIFA for about an hour while he tries to decompress from this whole ordeal.

His phone vibrates again, and he takes advantage of the distraction of the waiter refilling their glasses to read the text.

_ > you laughed at me last time i brought the bad side out to play _

Louis stifles a smile, his cheeks colouring slightly. The restaurant is dimly-lit enough that they probably won’t be able to tell, but still. He clears his throat again, louder this time so that it draws their attention as he pushes back from the table and rises from his seat, dropping his napkin into his chair.

“Just have to nip to the toilets,” he tells them, offering a polite smile as they nod at him and return to their conversation, barely even noticing his absence as he makes a break for it, walking quickly in the direction of the loo.

He blows a long breath out through his lips as the door swings shut behind him, pulling his phone from his pocket and unlocking it to stare down at the text. He runs a hand back through his hair, leaning against the sink and crossing his ankles in front of him as he taps out a reply.

_ I laughed at your dirty talk, not you . It’s completely different . It was situational laughter :) _

_ > still counts. you wounded my ego _

Louis lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he glances around the minimalist washroom, full of chrome fixtures and oddly-shaped modern mirrors. He wonders absently whether Harry’s eaten here before, wonders what he’d like and whether he could do any of it better.

_ What should I order ? _

He bites his lip, curling his toes in his shoes as he waits for Harry’s answer.

_ > where are you? _

_ Bar Boulud  _

He glances around the small room again before adding,

_ I’m hiding in the toilets right now _

Louis chews on his thumbnail as he watches the bubble of dots appear on the screen below his sent text, and he rolls his eyes when it disappears after an inordinately long amount of time. Harry’s one of  _ those _ texters, he’s quickly figuring out.

He flips to his emails instead, scrolling through a long-winded message from Simon reminding him to play nice with the network execs tonight, no matter what they might say.

“I’m fucking trying to,” he mutters to himself, closing his eyes for a moment and pushing any lingering anger from his mind as his phone buzzes in his hand.

“Did you give up on trying to compose the Anna Karenina of texts?” Louis asks by way of answering the call.

“Well, since you’re locked in a restaurant bathroom and I’m trapped in a restaurant kitchen, I decided to just cut out the middle man,” Harry’s voice says through the phone. “Hello, by the way.”

“Hi,” Louis says quietly, smiling down at the shiny tops of his shoes. “What’s on right now for you? Lunch?”

“No, we’re sort of between services,” Harry says, letting out a deep sigh. “I’m hiding in my office. It’s just a lot of stress sometimes.”

“D’you want to talk about it?” Louis asks, unbuttoning the top of his collar. 

“Yes,” Harry says, and he sounds exhausted. “But not right now. You’ve got a big important meeting to get back to and I have an autumn menu to work on or it’ll never get done. Except it’s really hard to think about stews and squash when it’s only the beginning of cod season.”

“I’m going to pretend like I know what that means,” Louis tells him, letting his smile spread across his face as he rubs his finger over a smudge on the countertop.

“ It’s not important,” he says, and Louis can picture him leaning back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him under his desk with curls poking out of the bun that he’d sent Louis a proud picture of earlier. “What  _ is _ important is what you’re going to order from that French bastard.”

“Nice, Harry,” Louis deadpans. “I can’t imagine why you have the reputation that you have.”

Harry laughs, clear and bright even though he still sounds tired, and Louis counts that as a win. “Fucking Boulud,” he says. “He hates me ever since I pinched Dunway from him for my LA restaurant. It’s more like friendly competition, I think. Except not, because he also thinks I stole his Bistro Moderne French-American fusion with my New York restaurant, even though that’s not even that original of an idea.”

“ _ And _ he didn’t give me free food,” Louis adds. “Fuck Boulud is right.”

“Are you paying, or is the network footing the bill?” Harry asks with a smile in his voice. “Because that changes the game on what you should order.”

“They’re picking it up,” Louis tells him. “So go wild, I say.”

“ Get the  _ carré d’agneau _ ,” Harry says immediately. “And his  _ salade de betteraves  _ as a starter.”

Louis licks his lips, cocking his head to the side. “What’s that in English?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “You’re so pretentious.”

“It’s a French restaurant!” Harry says defensively, letting out a little laugh. “But fine, it’s rack of lamb and a beetroot salad. You’ll like it.”

“Not bloody likely,” Louis mutters, loosening his tie slightly so that it feels less likely to choke all the breath out of him. “I hate beets.”

“Trust me,” Harry says.

“Okay,” Louis says quietly, and he can’t help smiling as he turns around to study his reflection in the mirror, making sure he still looks presentable despite having mussed up his hair a bit. He presses the phone tighter to his ear so he can hear the soft sounds of Harry’s breath, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment as he swallows hard. “I miss you, by the way.”

“I miss you too,” Harry says right away, voice barely above a whisper. “Like...a lot.”

“Can I call you when I leave here?” he asks, bouncing a bit on his toes as he tries to psych himself up for the rest of the meeting. “It might be kind of late. Or, well, dinnertime for you, I guess. Which is busy time.”

“Yeah, I – ” Harry cuts himself off, and Louis listens to him blow a breath out into the phone. “I kind of don’t care? Call me anyway.”

  
  


“Remind me again why we’re in the busiest store in London on a Saturday afternoon when we could be doing literally anything else?” Louis asks as he and Liam wind their way through towers of perfume and hoards of tourists toward the women’s clothing section of Selfridges.

“Because I’m taking Soph to Paris for an early birthday at the bank holiday, and she’s had her eye on this dress for ages,” Liam says distractedly, studying a sign on the pillar in front of them. “Did you know you can get a wig fitting on the fifth floor?”

“ Why would I want to get a wig fitting?” Louis asks absently, not glancing up from his phone as he taps out a text to Harry ( _ stuck in selfridges w liam...want a £400 hair scrunchie? _ ). “C’mon, let’s just get the dress and get out of here. This place is too big to be good for anyone’s sanity.”

“If you want, you can take a break in the café on the fourth,” Liam supplies, shrugging his shoulders. “Or the bar on the ground floor.”

Louis glances up at that, raising his eyebrows as he laughs. “This place has a bar?”

Liam skims the tip of his finger down the list, counting under his breath. “Four of them,” he says after a moment. “And a Starbucks and two ice cream places and a cupcake shop. Plus like ten restaurants.”

“That is absolutely unnecessary,” Louis says, shaking his head in bewilderment. “One fucking store with like twenty places to eat lunch. Where do we go to get the dress?”

“The third, I think,” Liam says, frowning as he studies the map. “Or the sixth? Not the seventh, that’s the rooftop bistro.”

“Oh my god, we have to get out of here,” Louis says. He shoves his phone in his pocket and drags Liam toward an up escalator, not even entirely sure which floor they’re currently on. “This place is worse than an Ikea. We’ll never make it out if we don’t get moving.”

“Land of the Lotus Eaters,” Liam says, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially and glancing at the group of middle aged women on the escalator behind them. “You’d never know it, but this lot have been lost in here since 1963.”

Louis lets out a surprised laugh, rolling his eyes as he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He wraps an arm around Liam’s shoulders, tugging him closer against his side.

“So what’s this about Paris, Payno?” he asks, knocking his knuckles against the side of Liam’s head. “Fancy dress, extravagant long weekend with your girl. You’re going to propose, aren’t you?”

Liam gives him a broad smile as he ducks out of the loose headlock, shoving at his shoulder. “No, I’m not,” he says, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

Louis’ eyes go slightly wide. “Not  _ yet _ ?” he asks, not quite able to hide the excitement in his voice. “As in, you’re thinking about it?”

“I’ve had the ring picked out for a couple months. But I think probably at Christmas when…” Liam trails off, cocking his head to the side. “Since when do you care?”

Louis gives him an odd look, frowning in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks. “I always care about what’s going on with you.”

“ No, I know that,” Liam says quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. Just...you don’t usually like, y’know,  _ romantic _ talk.”

“ I don’t  _ not _ like it,” Louis says slowly, licking his lips self consciously. “We just don’t normally talk about it.”

“Whatever you say,” Liam says, arching an eyebrow at him curiously as they step off the long escalator and into the lightly-perfumed ladies’ clothing department. 

Luckily, Louis is saved from defending himself any further as Liam catches a passing salesperson almost immediately, pulling his phone out to show her a photo of the coveted dress and ask for directions. Louis trails along behind them, hands shoved in his pockets as he goes, and he feels his phone vibrate with another new text just as his eyes fall on a stack of delicately floral patterned Valentino scarves folded neatly on the table next to him.

He glances toward Liam, who’s deep in conversation with the shop girl, before he turns to pick up the square of silk, running it through his fingers. It’s soft and buttery against his skin as he unfolds it to see its full pattern.

“Shopping for someone special today?” a voice asks from his left, and he jumps slightly, turning to find a cheerful blonde woman standing by his side. 

He glances over his shoulder and realises that Liam has continued on without him toward the dresses, leaving him all on his own. He clears his throat, folding the scarf back into a careful square.

“Erm, not really shopping for anyone,” he says awkwardly, laying it back on the pile. “It just made me think of someone.”

“But that’s the best kind of gift,” the shop girl says, picking the scarf back up and pressing it into his hands. “She’ll love it, I’m sure.”

“He,” Louis corrects, raising his eyebrows at her as he takes the scarf back, but she doesn’t look phased whatsoever.

“We have a wonderful selection of men’s scarves downstairs, if you’d like someone to show you,” she offers, smiling warmly at him.

“No, he likes the pretty ones,” he says, smiling to himself as he runs the silk through his fingers again. He folds it back up, laying it against the pile. Her smile drops slightly as he lets it go. “Thank you, though.”

He turns and walks in the direction of the dress department, leaving her standing next to the scarves and resisting the urge to double back and peek at the price tag on the flowery square of silk.

  
  


“God, I want you so bad,” Louis groans on Monday night, so late it’s practically early, squeezing his eyes shut, already three fingers deep in himself as he angles his hips up off the mattress. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day, fuck.”

“Tell me,” Harry’s voice says from the pillow next to his head, voice tinny and canned through the speakerphone. There’s a shuffling noise on the other end of the line, and Harry lets out a quiet grunt. “Tell me how you want it.”

“Fuck, I want you in me,” Louis says, thrusting his hips up into thin air. “On top or riding you or fucking...sideways, I don’t even care.”

“Can’t wait to get my hands on you next weekend,” Harry says in a low voice, his breath coming harsh through the phone, and Louis closes his eyes again, tries to imagine that he can feel Harry’s fingers against his skin. “I’m gonna fuck you up against the wall as soon as you get there then lay you out on the bed and just fucking...if you’d let me, I’d eat you out for hours. I’d just keep you like that all night long.”

Louis gasps around his moan at the sharp heat that coils in his belly at that, bringing his knees up to his chest so he can get his fingers in deeper. He wonders what it would feel like, laying here like this with his legs thrown over Harry’s shoulders, broad tongue laving over his rim and dipping inside to taste. He’d let Louis yank at his hair and hold his face down, would get off on being directed like that, would  _ want _ Louis to take control and grind down against his mouth. He’d probably eat him out like he was starving for it, teeth and all, sloppy and messy and wet.

“Fucking hell,” Louis says through clenched teeth, using the fingers of his free hand to give a harsh twist to his nipple. “You’d be so good at it, too. Your mouth – it’s fucking made for it.”

“You’ll see when you let me,” Harry tells him, his voice strained. “I could get off just from that, you know. You riding my face, fuck.”

Louis lets out an overwhelmed whimper as he plants his feet back down against the mattress, curling his fingers inside himself to press them firm into the spot that sends sparks shooting down his spine, his back arching up off the bed as his breath gets caught in his throat when he tries to take in too much air at once.

“I’m gonna come,” he says frantically, breath coming harsh over his lips. “I have to. Can’t hold off any more.”

His hips jerk up into the air again, searching for something,  _ anything _ , before he’s coming hard over his own chest, cock jerking against his stomach where it’s gone untouched. The shuffling noise on the other end of the line speeds up, and he hears Harry grunt as he collapses back against the pillows, pulling his fingers from himself and wiping them against the sheets.

They’re both silent as they catch their breath, Louis’ pounding heart slowing down to a normal rhythm. He groans low in his throat as he rolls over, reaching for the phone and fumbling to turn it off speaker, pressing it tight to his ear like a secret. He listens to the sound of Harry breathing on the other end of the line, an ocean and half a continent away, and his heart aches in his chest.

“I really do miss you, you know,” he says after a very long moment. “More than just the sex. Like...you. I don’t think I properly realised how much until just now.”

Harry doesn’t say anything at first, and Louis’ nerves spike with the breathless honesty of what he’s just said, his eyes falling closed as he tugs the quilt up over his shoulders.

“You get me,” Harry tells him finally. “I don’t know how, but – you just understand me. So easily. It’s not fair.”

Louis breathes a laugh, shaking his head against the fabric of his pillowcase. “I don’t,” he says quietly. “You scare the hell out of me. You throw me off my game like...constantly. I don’t get you at all, but I think that’s part of what makes you so exciting.”

“So neither of us knows what the hell we’re doing,” Harry whispers, and Louis can hear the sound of him rolling over in bed. “At least we’re on even ground.”

“The same page,” Louis adds, smiling sadly as he curls in on himself in the big, empty bed, facing the side of the mattress that Harry had inhabited for a week. Only a week. It had felt like months locked together, like it would never end. Then again, looking back on it, it sort of feels like they didn’t get any time at all.

“Sing me something,” Harry tells him then. “Woo me.”

Louis’ chest shudders when he laughs softly, sucking in a shaky breath. “I haven’t sung in years,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t even know if I can anymore.”

“Please?” Harry asks in a quiet voice that makes Louis’ chest feel tight. “I like hearing your voice.”

“You might not after you hear me sing,” Louis admits, pressing the phone tighter against his ear. “And you’re not allowed to laugh.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” Harry tells him, voice honest and soft. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Louis says, pulling the blankets up to his chin and closing his eyes. He takes a breath, wracking his mind for something that feels right, and it pops into his brain without even the barest moment of thought, so obvious even though he hasn’t listened to the song in probably ten years.

__If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine  
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung  
Would you hear my voice come through the music  
Would you hold it near as it were your own? 

  
  


Thursday morning dawns grey and dreary, and Louis makes his way to the office with a grim expression on his face, already in a bad mood before the day has even begun. It’s just been...a completely shit morning.

He slept through his alarm, stubbed his toe getting out of bed, burnt his toast, spilled coffee on his shirt and had to change  _ twice _ , and nearly got splash-zoned by a speeding cabbie on his way out of his building. And to top it all off, to make things impossibly even fucking worse, he’d received a very aggressively-worded email from Griffiths demanding a full write-up of today’s meeting before the close of business. Which means he’s probably going to be eating takeaway at his desk long after everyone else has cleared out to the bars or skipped off to Brighton for an early kick-off to the bank holiday. Liam will probably already be on a plane to France with Sophia by the time Louis shuts down his computer and heads home to his empty flat.

“You look like Eeyore off Prozac,” Zayn tells him as he slips into the elevator just before the doors slide shut. “What’s wrong?”

Louis slumps back against the wall, hunching his shoulders up toward his ears. “I’m going to die alone because I work too much and no one will ever want to put up with me for more than a month,” he says in a long monotone. “And I got hairspray in my eye this morning.”

Zayn just rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee as he watches the numbers go up on the digital floor display. “What happened to Wonder Boy?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “Did that not work out?”

Louis slides his eyes over to Zayn’s face, pushing off the wall and pulling his suit jacket straight over his shoulders. “Wonder Boy is still wonderful, but he’s out of town right now,” he says. “So I can either choose to be alone and miserable for the weekend while everyone’s off having fun or I can go to Blackpool with my mum.”

“So go to Blackpool,” Zayn tells him, arching an eyebrow. “Go hang out with your sisters. See your family. Eat bad food and sleep on the beach.”

“Get tetanus on a dodgy old roller coaster,” Louis adds, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just...blah today. Sorry. What’re you doing for the weekend?”

“Visiting some friends back home,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets as the doors slide open on their floor. “You could come with if you want, but you should totally go see your mum. It’ll be good for you. You’ve been...off lately.”

Before Louis has the chance to say anything else, he gets pulled away by Brad, wondering what a bank holiday is and chattering questions in his ear about the afternoon’s Skype call to Chicago.

  
  


Louis does go to Blackpool in the end, dashes home as soon as he’s sent his report and throws some things in a bag, catches a late train up North, and his mum’s face lights up like the sun when he shows up on the doorstep of the rented beach condo unannounced. She pulls him into a tight hug, and Louis feels the stress and longing of the last two weeks melt away under her hands, can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when she drags him into the kitchen and practically forces him to eat second and third helpings of left-over dinner while they chatter back and forth and catch up on all the things that can’t quite be talked about over the phone from a distance of three hours away.

The weekend is a whirlwind of sun and sand getting stuck in uncomfortable places and wrangling his sisters and a few too many 99 Flakes dripping sticky goo over his fingers, and he feels like he comes back to himself a bit. He’s spent the past week sort of dreary and lonely, floating through his days in a bit of a haze, but the screaming tornado of energy that is his family brings him firmly back to ground.

He still misses Harry, is still itching to get to New York in a few days to see him, but it feels less urgent now, less like he’s just drifting. It probably should be scary how quickly they grew so attached. And it  _ is _ , sort of. Scary. Louis admits as much to him over video call on Monday evening once he’s made it back home to London, and Harry agrees with him. Things started between them with a bang and they rushed into it headfirst, not even thinking to come up for air until they were forced apart.

“Maybe this was good for us,” Harry says idly, sitting back in his desk chair in the Skype window as he clicks around his computer screen and types something out. “Like, it made us slow down or something. I feel like we got to know each other better over the last few weeks, at least.”

Louis pushes his glasses up his nose and glances up from where he’s shuffling through a stack of papers on the bed in front of him, sorting out the last minute details of their six month travel schedule. He grins at the wisps of hair that have broken free from the loose bun on top of Harry’s head, and Harry’s eyes flicker to his through the screen when he hears Louis’ quiet laugh.

“What?” he asks, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. “Do I have food on my shirt or something?”

“You always have food on your shirt when you’re at work,” Louis tells him, smiling wider. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, biting at his lip. “Nothing. You just look cute right now. That’s all.”

“Well that’s definitely not acceptable,” Harry says, but he makes no move to change anything at all, just winks at Louis through the webcam. “I’m not supposed to be cute. I’m supposed to be scary.”

“How’s your menu coming?” Louis asks as he lifts himself up onto his knees to reach for a stapled packet of paper that details the restaurant they’ll be visiting in New Orleans. He holds a paperclip between his teeth as he shuffles it together with their hotel reservation and binds them together. “Are you through whingeing about coming up with out-of-season pumpkin soup recipes?”

“ It’s almost finished,” Harry tells him, squinting at his screen as his eyes scan back and forth, reading something. “And it’s not easy, thank you very much. Inventing a new way to serve wild carrots when literally everything’s been done before and it’s May so I can’t even buy any good ones at the market to properly test the recipe.” He blows a frustrated breath out through his lips, and Louis smiles to himself as he pieces together the Salt Lake packet. “But at least cows don’t have a season, so I could actually test  _ some _ of my recipes. Just wouldn’t ever serve them this time of year. I’m doing a braised beef cheek with port reduction and orange zest that I’m going to make you try next week because I need a second opinion.”

“You do realise that I eat takeaway curry from a place called the Chilli Shaker like…a minimum of three times a week, right?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “I don’t exactly have the most cultured palate.”

“I’m officially making it my mission to change that,” Harry tells him, giving Louis a pointed look. “You don’t have a say in it. I’m only telling you as a fair warning, because it’s going to happen whether you like it or not.”

“And you’re starting with beef cheek?” Louis asks, letting out a small laugh, pushing the sleeves of his soft hoodie up to his elbows. “I mean, it’s you, so I’m sure it’ll be amazing, but that sounds kind of horrible.”

“There’s also a garlic and cranberry steamed kale salad that’s served hot,” Harry tells him, reading from his computer screen. “Or a sweet potato gnocchi with flash-fried sage leaves and shaved chestnuts.”

“See, I’d probably be getting off on this right now or something if we were having sex, but since I’m just sitting here in my trackies with a pile of paperwork in front of me, it pretty much just sounds like you’re speaking a foreign language,” Louis tells him, arching an eyebrow.

“Scallion crepes with a wild mushroom filling and roasted red pepper bechamel,” Harry recites in an exaggeratedly sexy voice, licking his lips slowly and biting at the tip of his tongue to keep his smile in. “Millet-stuffed roast butternut squash with shiitake mushroom and kale pesto.”

Louis lets out a raspy laugh, his eyes crinkling up as he slides pieces of Boston together. “Oh, yeah,” he says around his smile. “Talk dirty to me.”

Harry just grins at him, scratching a hand back over his head and reaching up to squeeze at his bun with long fingers. He’s quiet for a while as he watches Louis shuffle his papers around.

“D’you want to go to dinner with me when we get to New York in a few days?” he asks after a moment, and Louis glances up at him, pushing his slipping glasses back up his nose. “Like, a real, actual date. Where we both know it’s a date from the start and we aren’t surrounded by our friends. I realised today that we’ve never actually had one.”

Louis swallows, licking his lips. “I...yeah, I’d like that,” he says, smile spreading across his face. “I’d like it a lot. Where d’you want to go?”

“Do you like Lebanese food?” Harry asks, sitting up straighter in his seat. “A friend of mine just opened a new place in Midtown that I’ve been meaning to try.”

“Can’t wait,” Louis says, ducking his head as he reaches for a pile detailing San Francisco.

They both fall quiet as they sift through their work, but Louis can’t help but feel his heart jump in his chest when he glances up at the screen several moments later to find Harry already watching him, a calm, happy smile spreading across his face.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from [you always make me smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grnkCPxdTdU) by kyle andrews
> 
> im on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)!! :))))


	7. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much to everyone for all your comments and tumblr messages and kind words and everything kdfljsg and also thank you for being patient with me during my two weeks of vacation when i didn't have time to write omg (im – hopefully – making up for it with an absurdly long 15k chapter rip)
> 
> special thanks to [tish](http://theshadytimeline.tumblr.com) for holding my hand through this chapter and for stellar advice and also for co-writing the last sentence at 4am when we were both delirious and slap happy and rambling in the google docs chat window.
> 
> also to [renee](http://febrularry.tumblr.com) for giving me encouragement and advice on parts of this and also for yelling at me over the ~sneak previews~ i sent her she's the bomb
> 
> AND to [alice](http://intenselouis.tumblr.com) for aggressively reccing this and also for making my dreams come true by adding me to her fic abbreviations list lmao
> 
>  _AND_ to [jess](http://whitechimes.tumblr.com) for listening to me ramble about my feelings about new york and for cheering me on and also for just generally being awesome you rock
> 
> OKAY OKAY i promise i'll stop rambling soon but on _top_ of that, i also want to say that i really hope people like this chapter because new york is SO special to me and i wanted to show as much of it as i could but i had somewhat limited space so i had to hold myself back a bit (because otherwise this chapter would have bloomed to like 50k or something absurd like that). so. yes. i hope you like it.
> 
> links which are relevant to this chapter: harry's [car](http://www.new2015astonmartin.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Vanquish-Volante-for-Sale-Image.jpg), their [hotel](http://www.jameshotels.com/new-york) in the city, [little branch](http://www.yelp.com/biz/little-branch-new-york) which is mostly unimportant to this chapter but is also really cool, the [restaurant](http://www.craftrestaurantsinc.com/craft-new-york/) the group goes to for dinner and their [menu](http://www.craftrestaurantsinc.com/craft-new-york/files/2011/09/dinner-08.14.15-menu-box.pdf), and the [little place](http://anablebasin.com) on the east river where they go for burgers (it's pretty much locals-only so if you're looking for a tourist-free spot to chill and have a beer and watch the sunset over manhattan, you're welcome)
> 
> enjoy!
> 
>  **disclaimer** – this contains fictional representations of real people. none of the events present in this story are true, and i receive no financial benefit from writing this.

By the time Louis steps off the plane at JFK on Sunday night, exhausted from the long flight and slightly tipsy off the seemingly endless flow of first-class champagne service, he can feel the twist and burn of excited nerves curling in his stomach and reaching out to tingle all the way down to the tips of his fingers. He’s excited to get going on the show, finally, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t mostly itching to see Harry again, and the restless shuffling of his feet as he gets stuck behind a slow-moving family of four struggling with a pram on the jetway makes his jaw twitch in frustration.

He’s already had to wait long enough; he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

Simon had breezed back into the office from LA and rescheduled his flight at the last minute, forcing him to hang behind in London an extra day to do a full pass-off on everything that had gone on with the business during the time he’d been gone and also preparing for Louis’ six months away. He’d sent a flurry of apology texts to Harry as he ordered takeaway for himself and Simon, asking if it was maybe alright if they rescheduled their dinner date in New York since Louis was stuck in an office an ocean away, eating a mediocre Chinese with his boss and poring over budget reports. On a weekend, nonetheless.

The one good thing to come out of it, Louis supposes, is that he got to kip on the plane by himself instead of fielding excited questions from Brad or dodging spitballs from Liam or enduring another round of Wonder Boy Twenty Questions from Zayn, since all the others had still gone ahead the afternoon before.

Anyway.

Now it’s late in New York and early in London and Louis’ stumbling his way off a red-eye with a cardboard cup of coffee clutched in his hand courtesy of the smiling air hostess, and he can feel a throbbing headache starting to form behind his left eye because the baby in the pram in front of him won’t stop crying.

He waits until there’s a socially-acceptable amount of space between the mum and the wall before pushing past the family, shrugging his bag higher up on his shoulder as he goes and sliding his sunglasses down over his face to guard against the hospital-white glare of the international arrivals terminal. The airport is nearly empty, all flights having departed for the night already, and he slumps against the moving wall of an automated sidewalk, letting it carry him past shuttered duty-free shops and cafés.

The customs line is blessedly short as well, and the woman behind the bullet-proof window is surprisingly kind-faced and cheerful considering she’s working airport security at one in the morning in a notoriously brisk and unfriendly city. She flips through the pages of his passport quickly, stamps on the entry approval and authorises his temporary work visa before motioning him through and allowing him to enter the country more or less without hassle, a rare luxury when travelling.

He’s just exiting the security checkpoint and entering baggage claim, mentally preparing himself for the rush and burn of the city that waits for him outside the glass and steel walls of the airport terminal, when he stops dead in his tracks, his heart stuttering in his chest and a wide smile breaking across his face in spite of his exhaustion.

Harry’s standing about ten metres in front of him, leaning back against a pillar with his nose buried in his phone, concentrating on something with a furrowed brow. Louis watches as Harry frowns deeply, tilting his phone to the side as the corners of his mouth turn down in frustration, and he feels a breathless laugh bubble up in his chest at the sight of him – real and solid and _Harry_ – right there in front of him. Louis’ normally the kind of guy who hates surprises, but this...

He forces himself forward, coming to stand in front of Harry and fixing him with what he hopes is a very serious and not-at-all sugary sweet look.

“Some chauffer you are,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Picking me up unannounced, no sign.”

Harry’s eyes snap up from his phone, and Louis can hear his quiet, surprised inhale from where he’s standing, wide green eyes scanning over his face just before Harry surges forward off the pillar and into Louis’ arms. He steadies him with a hand on the small of his back, holding his coffee out with one arm to keep it from spilling down over both their shirts as Harry tucks his face into Louis’ neck, squeezing him tight with strong arms.

“God, I missed you so much,” Harry breathes, private and soft so only Louis can hear, and Louis feels his heart grow about ten sizes in his chest. “I almost forgot you were real.”

“I missed you too,” Louis whispers. He lets his eyes fall closed as he breathes in the smell of him, lavender and old leather and a slight hint of sweat as he hauls Louis even closer, lips pressing a tiny, closed-mouth kiss to the crook of his neck before letting him go, hovering close even as he steps back so that Louis has to crane his neck up to meet his eye with matching delirious smiles.

“You should go back and come out again,” Harry tells him in an undertone, letting a happy little giggle bubble up in his chest. “I had a whole thing planned where I would see you first and you wouldn’t see me then I’d come up behind you or something and surprise you. It was going to be very romantic.”

“And instead I caught you playing brick breaker and ignoring me,” Louis says, reaching up to rest a hand against the side of Harry’s neck. He taps his fingers against his pulse point. “Are you too famous for me to kiss you in the middle of the airport?”

Harry’s lips twitch in interest, the dimple in his cheek popping out as his eyes flicker over Louis’ shoulder and scan the thin crowd, everyone going about their business and too tired or busy to care about two blokes next to a pillar.

“I’ll probably never be too famous for that,” Harry mutters, gaze zeroing back in on Louis’ face as his grin widens, eyes flashing in the harsh fluorescent light.

“You’re damn well going to be eventually, or we’ll both be out of a job,” Louis tells him, rolling up onto his toes to press their lips together lightly, fingers threading through the curls that hang long and wild at the back of Harry’s neck.

It’s like kissing him for the first time, that same feeling shuddering through his chest as Harry’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip, nails scratching at the base of his spine, that same thought rushing through his head just like it did that first night back in London when they were both half-drunk off Spanish wine:

 _Oh, there you are_.

He doesn’t know why, but he breathes a laugh into the kiss, snuffling through his nose as he pushes closer, his bag slipping on his shoulder, and then Harry’s grinning into it too, arm tight like a vice around Louis’ waist to hold him close. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the weirdness that comes with jet lag, but Louis can’t stop fucking laughing, and he breaks away to press his forehead against Harry’s shoulder, winding his arms around his waist with his eyes still closed as a helpless peal of giggles breaks through his chest.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, but Louis can hear the smile in his voice. “Had you forgotten how bad of a kisser I am or something?”

Louis swats at his chest, still letting out little hiccoughing laughs as he pulls away and takes a step back, shaking his head with his smile all crinkled around his eyes. “I just...I’m just really happy right now,” he says honestly, biting his lip. “I don’t know why I’m laughing but...hi, hello, I missed you. You look...beautiful and you smell like home, and I’m embarrassing myself terribly right now, but I’ve not slept in about two days and I can’t believe you’re here. Basically.”

Harry wrinkles his nose up when he smiles, ducking his head as his cheeks colour with a pretty blush. He reaches forward to take Louis’ bag from his hand and slides it over his own shoulder, grasping the hand not occupied by the necessary coffee cup and lacing their fingers together, squeezing tightly, and Louis doesn’t ever want to let go.

  


Together, they somehow, impossibly, manage to wrestle Louis’ three suitcases and his shoulder bag into the back of Harry’s ridiculous posh coupe that’s parked in the garage across the street from the terminal. It’s a sage green little convertible with cream suede seats sunk low to the ground and the most impractical amount of space in the boot of a car that Louis’ ever seen. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, but Harry notices the look on his face nonetheless as he stands there staring in bewilderment at the complicated seatbelt mechanism.

“It was a birthday present to myself after I opened my first American restaurant,” Harry tells him. “I like cars, alright?”

“It looks like a spaceship,” Louis says, staring at Harry over the top of the car. “Like a green weird spaceship with wheels. A spaceship with no storage space.”

“I didn’t have to pick you up, you know,” Harry says, raising an eyebrow and fighting to keep a smile off his face. “I could’ve left you to fend for yourself and catch a cab. I won’t even make you tip me for carrying all your luggage.”

“You didn’t have to do that either,” Louis says, reaching out to open the door of the car with gentle hands. He’s almost afraid to touch it considering the fact that it looks like it’s probably more expensive than all his £3000 suits put together. “You volunteered. It was a charitable act of service.”

“I’m one of those shady non-profits that pretends to be a charity just to get special treatment off the government,” Harry tells him seriously. “I’m secretly just waiting for a handout. I’ve always got an ultimatum.”

“Like Ikea,” Louis says, playing along. “You’re the bag-carrying version of Ikea. Selling me cheap flatpack furniture under the guise of being nice while you’re actually just scraping favours off the top.”

“Except I charge way more than two quid for a Full English,” Harry says as they both slide into the car, and Louis breaks and laughs as Harry pushes a series of buttons on the console, lowering the top and revving the engine to life.

He’s missed this. So much, he thinks, as Harry whips out of the parking spot with startling ease, reversing the car and throwing it back into drive before speeding down the lane toward the ticket machine. He’s spent a lot of the past three weeks thinking about how much he missed Harry, but he didn’t really realise how much until just now, not properly at least.

It’s just... _this_ , the easy closeness between them and the way they get on so effortlessly well. It was one thing to miss Harry in terms of the scrape of his fingers and the heat of his mouth and the dark bruises left on his hipbones and the way he punched little breathy moans from his chest that one night when he clambered into Louis’ lap on the sofa and worked himself down on his cock, soft whines falling from cherry-red lips as he whispered endless incomprehensible sentences in French just to watch the way Louis’ eyes glazed over with it.

And Louis does still miss those things, is actively missing them now, even with Harry sat right here next to him in his tiny little car, hair wild in the early summer breeze as he huffs out annoyed little breaths at the airport traffic. But Louis missed all of the rest of it so much more, missed the way Harry’s hair frizzes and curls out of his bun in the morning, missed the smell of him clinging to his skin all day long and the way he shakes his hips to the kitchen radio while he cooks up the most effortlessly perfect food Louis’ ever eaten, missed the scrunch of his nose when he laughs, big and loud and honking and indelicate, the awkward inward turn of his toes when he’s feeling shy and the way he makes Louis’ heart race with even the quickest of glances.

He’s missed a lot, basically, about a boy he’s only known for a month. He missed pretty much everything, and it makes him ache all the way down to his bones when he thinks too long about the fact that the majority of the time they’ve had together so far has been time spent separated by a distance of four thousand miles.

But that’s over now. Because here Harry is, holding his hand over the console and grinning at him, big and real and happy, as the road opens up to the grey of Brooklyn and the eerie yellow glow of an underwater tunnel. It’s when they come out on the other side, into the blinding lights and energy of Manhattan at night, that Louis really understands how hard he’s fallen for this absurd, frenetic boy.

No matter how much of a rush this city is, Louis still can’t pull his eyes away from Harry.

  


“Everyone’s upstairs in the bar,” Harry gasps between frantic kisses a half hour later once Louis’ gotten checked into his room and the door’s swung shut behind them. He palms his hands over Louis’ arse and lifts him into the air easily, Louis’ legs wrapping around his waist. “They’re waiting for us. They want to all go out together tonight.”

“This’ll only take like ten minutes,” Louis says, biting down against Harry’s bottom lip and rolling it between his teeth. He lets it go and licks over the skin to soothe it, pecking a kiss against his lips just before he lurches in Harry’s arms and gets thrown onto the bed unceremoniously. “Fifteen, tops. ‘S been three weeks since anyone’s touched me. I’m not trying to set a new record here or anything.”

Harry’s fingers falter where he’s been unbuttoning his shirt, hands fumbling over his buttons as he stares down at Louis with slightly-widened eyes. “You...I mean, you didn’t hook up with anyone else while I was gone?” he asks.

“What? No, of course I didn’t,” Louis says in a confused voice, sitting up on his elbows. “Why, did you?”

“I mean – ”

Louis swallows heavily, licking his lips as he tries to work through the flood of emotions that rocket through him just then. “I know we didn’t say we were exclusive, but I thought – ”

“No, I...I didn’t,” Harry says quickly, cutting him off with wide eyes. “Either, I mean. I didn’t hook up with anyone else either.” He pushes a hand back through his own hair, and Louis can practically see the tremble in his fingers. “I had a few...but I didn’t want to.”

“A few what?”

Harry clears his throat, dropping his gaze to stare at a spot somewhere near Louis’ knees. “People. Who like, offered," he says quietly. "I told them no. I told them – well, I told them I was sort of seeing someone."

“Oh,” Louis says, his heart beating out a frantic rhythm in his ears. He opens his mouth then closes it again, sucking in a shaky breath. “I... _oh_.”

“Yeah, I...is that okay?” Harry asks, and Louis can’t see his toes over the edge of the bed, but he’d bet his life on them being turned in toward each other, awkward and knobby and unsure.

“Of course it’s okay,” Louis says, and he wonders if he sounds as shell-shocked as he feels. “It’s...more than okay.”

“Right then. I guess...get your kit off,” Harry says, flashing Louis a slightly shy and unfairly sweet smile, shrugging out of his own shirt and starting in on the difficult task of peeling his impossibly-tight trousers off his thighs. “Seeing you naked over video call isn’t quite the same as getting the full experience.”

“ _Get your kit off_? Seriously?” Louis says around his surprised laugh, arching an eyebrow. “This is your idea of romantic reunion talk?”

“I would’ve gone with ‘let me take your pants off with my teeth’, but I don’t think we have time for that,” Harry says, dimples popping out on his cheeks. “This is jam-sandwich-over-the-sink sex.”

“Hurry-up-and-fuck-me-before-our-friends-come-looking-for-us sex,” Louis says, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt and kicking his trousers off.

“That’s not very creative,” Harry tells him flatly, dropping a bottle of lube onto the bed and climbing over top of Louis just as he manages to get his briefs off. “It’s supposed to be a metaphor. That’s the whole point.”

“You’re the one who used the same metaphor twice,” Louis says. He yanks at Harry’s hair once just to watch the way his eyes flutter shut with it, and it gives him the chance to plant a foot on the mattress and flip them over. He grins down at Harry in triumph, grappling with his wrists and pinning them on the pillow above his head. “You should’ve gone with something like, I dunno, spaghetti sex or something.”

“Spaghetti is not a quick meal,” Harry tells him, frowning and flexing his arms where they’re pinned to the bed. “Not when it’s done properly. You have to roll the dough and make the noodles and boil the sauce for hours. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“That’s because you make weird chef spaghetti,” Louis says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he dips his head to suck a bright mark into the hollow of Harry’s throat. “I’m talking crack some dry noodles into a pot of water and open a jar. That’s spaghetti.”

“That’s a budget student meal,” Harry says as Louis nudges his legs apart with one of his knees. “You eat like an eighteen year old.”

“Please,” Louis scoffs. “You were eating charcuterie platters with the butcher boy when you were eighteen. You don’t even know what students eat.”

“I know enough,” Harry says. “I do have friends other than just Niall, you know. And some of them went to uni.”

“No,” Louis says loftily. He presses Harry’s wrists into the pillow pointedly, raising his eyebrows, and Harry nods in understanding. Louis releases him in favour of running his fingers down Harry’s side playfully. “Niall is your only friend and you’ve never even heard of uni. Books? What are those?”

Harry just rolls his eyes, squirming against the light ticklish touch but keeping his arms raised obediently.

“Are you going to have sex with me now or are you just going to bully me and stare at my chest all night?” he asks after a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

“Someone’s cheeky tonight,” Louis says, laughing under his breath. “You’re like a gremlin. Don’t feed you after midnight or you get nasty.”

“No one’s fed me yet, though. That’s the problem,” Harry says, flashing him a grin. “With food or anything else. I get cranky if I don’t eat.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Louis says, shaking his head even as he reaches for the little bottle of lube on the pillow next to Harry’s head. “Bloody ridiculous, honestly.”

“I’m already like, ready. If that’s where you were headed,” Harry tells him, shifting his hips against the bed. “Did it before I left for the airport.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him and reaches down between his legs to rub dry fingers over his rim. Sure enough, his hand comes away wet, and Louis swallows heavily, licking his lips. The thought of Harry in his hotel room, lips red and worried, colour high on his cheeks as he twisted two then three then more fingers into himself, head dropping down between his shoulderblades as he worked himself back onto his own hand. Or maybe he’d done it on his back, legs raised up in the air with an arm curled down and around to get in deep. Louis’ cock twitches at the image that flashes through his mind, and it’s so ridiculous to get this feeling from something like that, but he feels the rush of it go straight to his head.

His eyes flicker up to Harry’s face, and there he is, already watching Louis with those same calm, quiet eyes that he had when they would talk over Skype during their weeks apart, like he’s seeing something in Louis’ face that Louis didn’t even know was there. The sex is one thing, but this...it takes Louis’ breath away.

“I really did miss you, you know,” Harry says in a soft voice, and he just looks so vulnerable like this, spread out with his arms raised above his head, face open and honest and so fucking beautiful in the soft-lit room that Louis honestly thinks that he could cry.

He swallows around a sudden lump in his throat, and he wonders if anyone else gets to see Harry like this. He hopes not. He really fucking hopes not, but he also sort of wishes that the entire world could know this boy as he is right now, thinks it could probably end a few world wars or stop a couple dictators or something, he doesn’t know, but he _does_ know that he’s never seen anything more important than this.

Somehow, even though that doesn’t even really make sense, it’s true.

“I don’t want it quick and dirty,” Louis says then, and his voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid that if he speaks too loud he’ll shatter whatever it is that’s holding him in this spell. “I want...want to feel you.”

And maybe this is what he was missing. Maybe this is what he missed that night after their fake second date, when things felt slightly off-kilter for no reason that he could understand back then. Maybe this is why. Because he _gets it_ now, staring down at Harry all wide-eyed and soft and patient, slow blinking and quiet. He gets it.

“Okay,” Harry says, like it’s that easy.

And maybe it is. Maybe to Harry’s zen Yoda brain and this weird thing it does to Louis, maybe it actually is that easy to talk about feelings and to even _feel_ this way and this much for a person you’re only barely starting to get to know. It shouldn’t make sense, shouldn’t _be_ easy, but it does and it is, and Louis’ rolling a condom down over himself and nudging Harry’s legs apart more and sinking into the heat of him, and nothing has probably ever felt as good as this feels right now.

He lowers himself down carefully, hands sliding up to lace Harry’s fingers with his own and squeezing as he rests their foreheads together, and it feels like Harry’s eyes are boring into his soul or something with the way he’s staring at him, soft little breaths fanning out over his face as he bottoms out, a quiet grunt falling from Harry’s lips when Louis shifts inside him.

“You scare me,” Louis admits on a whisper, panting hot breaths into Harry’s mouth. “You scare the hell out of me.”

Harry lets out a surprised huff of a laugh, hitching his legs up around Louis’ waist to get him in deeper, angling his hips up off the bed and brushing his thumbs over the backs of Louis’ hands.

“Why?” he asks, licking out to taste Louis’ bottom lip. “I’m not actually as scary as I pretend to be.”

And maybe it’s the jet lag and the exhaustion again, or maybe there’s just too damn much welling up inside him, but Louis doesn’t even hesitate.

“Because being with you feels like climbing a mountain,” he says, and he’s not even embarrassed. He makes a tight circle with his hips, punching a small noise from Harry’s chest, and pushes in deeper. “But it also feels like learning how to skydive or something. It’s fucking terrifying.”

“I don’t think you actually learn how to do that,” Harry says quietly. “I think you just fall.”

“Then it’s like falling,” Louis says, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment because he can’t keep the smile off his face anymore and he doesn’t think he can say this while Harry’s matching his stare. “The bit before the parachute opens, when you’re still not convinced that you aren’t going to die but you’re having the time of your life. Free fall. You’re a Tom Petty song.”

“Did you just find your sex philosophy?” Harry asks, squeezing at Louis’ fingers. “Songs instead of food?”

Louis lets out a tiny, helpless little laugh, fluttering his eyes open again so he can stare into Harry’s eyes as he presses their smiles together, angling his hips out and back in, pushing into Harry so that his toes curl with it.

“That song’s about a breakup,” Louis tells him in a hushed voice. “It needs to be like...this is something else. This is the opposite.” He feels his breath catch in his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut again, laughing around the blush that heats his face. “God, sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just ignore me.”

He feels the soft press of Harry’s mouth against his, lips skimming up his cheekbone to press at the corner of his eye, and there’s something huge and real welling up in his chest. He moves inside him again, the drag of Harry’s rim setting his teeth on edge through all this overwhelming emotion that feels like it’s filling him up to bursting, and he feels a shuddery moan make its way up from his chest.

“Please don’t be sorry,” Harry says then, shaking his head. “It’s...I feel that too, okay? I don’t want to ignore you. You’re like sky diving. You are. You’re like...like eating fugu for the first time.”

Louis lets out another overwhelmed laugh, angling his hips just right to make Harry stiffen and turn to putty under him, and he seals their lips together into a long kiss, releasing Harry’s hands to run fingers back through his curls and cradle his face and tilt his head back so he can lick into his mouth properly, inhaling sharply through his nose when he feels Harry clench down around him, all of his nerve endings sparking and shooting shimmering lightning bolts down his spine.

“Jumping out of a plane and poison sushi,” he mutters into Harry’s lips. “We’re quite the pair.”

Harry lets out a startled moan as Louis presses in deep again, his back arching up off the bed as his eyes roll back in his head, mouth falling open on a cut-off groan as he comes untouched, cock jerking where it’s pressed between their bodies. He clenches down like a vice around Louis, strong rhythmic pulses that make Louis sink his teeth into Harry’s bottom lip as he snaps his hips back and forward once before coming undone just as Harry digs sharp nails into his shoulderblades.

“Did you just come because I knew what fugu was?” Louis asks, letting out a delighted laugh even as he pulls out and flops over onto his back, turning his head on the pillow to stare at Harry. “Seriously?”

“It caught me off guard!” Harry says defensively, a giggle bubbling up in his chest as he reaches down to push his fingers through the mess on his stomach, rolling his head on his neck so he can meet Louis’ eye. “You surprise me pretty much all the time, just so you know. It’s exciting.”

Louis would normally press his lips together to keep his smile from taking over his face, but whatever. He doesn’t even care at this point. He rolls into Harry’s side so he can bury his face in his neck, breathing in the smell of him.

“I’m glad you bought the lavender one,” he says quietly, letting his eyes fall closed. “You smell good.”

“It’s not too girly?” Harry asks, skimming feather-light fingers down his spine, and Louis can tell that there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“There’s no such thing,” Louis tells him. “Wear what you want and fuck anyone who says different. Not literally, but...y’know.”

Harry lets out a sleepy laugh through his nose and tugs Louis closer, their legs tangling together at the end of the bed, and Louis feels his own breath slow and deepen, everything going fuzzy around the edges as he starts to drop off to sleep.

  


He wakes several hours later to sunlight pouring in through the corner wall of windows, the smell of fresh coffee curling in the air from a breakfast cart that sits at the foot of the giant bed. Harry’s side of the mattress is empty and cool, but he can hear the rush of the shower coming out through the open bathroom door, and he smiles to himself, stomach fluttering.

He grunts quietly as he stretches all his limbs out and curls his toes into the dense foam of the king-sized bed before swinging his legs over the edge and sitting up, head hanging down slightly at the early-morning pressure building up behind his eyes. He gives himself a moment to breathe before he makes himself stand, shuffling barefoot and still-naked over to the room service cart to pour himself a cup of coffee.

It’s hot and strong just the way he likes, and he makes a small appreciative noise in the back of his throat as he moves to stand by the windows, looking out on the rush and bustle of Soho and the sun rising over Downtown, the whole city waking up beneath him or stumbling their way home to bed. The traffic crawls by on the street below, and he watches as a woman walking a dog stops to throw crumbled up bread to a scattering of pigeons, and he smiles to himself.

He hears the shower shut off just then, and he tears his eyes away from the scene outside just in time to see Harry emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towelling his hair off and dripping all over the hardwood floors.

“What, no sunrise kinky wakeup call?” Louis asks, smiling over the brim of his mug. “I’m disappointed.”

“You complained last time,” Harry tells him, squeezing his long hair in the towel before throwing it over the back of a chair. “But it’s only half six, so you never know. It might still come.”

“We blew everyone off last night,” Louis says, crossing the room to lift the cover from the tray on the cart and peek inside. “They’re going to know we were together. Is that Lobster Benedict?”

“Crab. Lobster’s out of season,” Harry tells him, flopping down on the bed stark naked and reaching out to dip the tip of his little finger into the pooling hollandaise, bringing it to his mouth to taste. “Too much Old Bay.” His gaze flickers up to Louis’ face. “Are you okay with that?”

“With too much Old Bay?”

Harry lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “With the idea that they’re going to assume we were together. They know I went to pick you up yesterday,” he says, stretching to reach for his mobile on the bed. He throws it in Louis’ direction, and Louis surprises himself by actually having the hand-eye coordination at this hour to catch it. “Niall sent me about a billion texts. They went to Little Branch for drinks after they gave up on us. More speakeasies.”

“I’m not like, upset about it,” Louis says, scrolling through the increasingly-drunken list of texts from Niall (from _H where r ya! Flight delayed?_ all the way down to _haaAAttdrrTY_ ). “Maybe they’ll think we innocently fell asleep in separate rooms or something.”

He locks the phone and drops it back onto the mattress near the pillows, crawling over on his knees until he can plop down next to Harry, who’s now sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed and eyeing a mushroom omelet with an undue amount of scrutiny, turning the plate at odd angles and examining the sauce pattern next to the potatoes.

“Are you waiting for it to turn into a chicken or something?” he asks after a moment.

Harry jumps as if he’d forgotten Louis was even there and sets the plate down with a guilty expression, turning it back to its original position on the tray.

“I can never understand David Burke,” he says, shaking his head. “He puts so many unnecessary things on his plate, like he’s trying to distract from the food or something, but his food’s not even that bad. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you about to go off on some big _food is art_ speech?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because you should know by now that I’d only allow that if you were doing it while you were like, eating me out or something. Otherwise I’m just going to roll my eyes.”

“Food _is_ art, and _you_ should know by now that I’d probably do just about anything to prattle on about it with my face buried in your arse,” Harry says, and he says it so fucking casually that Louis chokes on his coffee. “I’m just waiting for you to give me the go ahead.”

“You’re getting close,” Louis tells him in a rather undignified squeak of a voice, and he steals a bite of the mushroom omelet just to distract from the way his cheeks flush red under Harry’s sudden blinding smile.

  


In the end, Louis holds him down and rides him fast and hard while Harry levels stinging smacks against his bum. He waits until Harry shakes and comes apart beneath him before he lifts himself off and shuffles up the bed and sits himself high up on Harry’s chest, lets him suck dark, lazy marks into the insides of his thighs and pretty much comes just from that, falling forward and letting it splash up against Harry’s cheekbones, and Harry’s eyes get that dark, spaced-out look in them again that makes Louis’ chest feel like it’s on fire.

All in all – overly-spiced hollandaise aside – it’s not a bad start to a morning.

Harry does slip away eventually – darting back across the hall to his own room in nothing but last night’s pants after looking up and down the corridor and flashing a smile over his shoulder at Louis, clothes balled up under his arm – and Louis falls back against the bed, shaky overwhelmed sigh tumbling from his lips as he lets his eyes fall closed. He pushes a finger into one of the newly-bloomed bruises that dot his upper thighs, and he can’t help the giddy smile that spreads across his face.

  


Liam’s all hugs and bleary-eyed smiles when they meet up in the hotel conference room an hour later, slapping Louis on the back and pulling him into a loose headlock that Louis twists out of easily. He pokes a finger into Liam’s stomach, and Liam laughs even as he grumbles about being nauseous from his hangover and only four hours of sleep.

“Where were you last night?” he asks, tugging at the ends of Louis’ shower-damp hair. “Did your flight get delayed or something?”

“Nah, I was just knackered when I got in,” Louis tells him, sinking into a rolling chair and propping his feet up on the long table. He tries hard to ignore the way his skin is still all red and burning under his jeans from Harry spanking him, open-palmed and rough, but it’s there every time he shifts in his seat. “Went up to my room to change and fell dead asleep. Sounds like you lot had fun, though. Harry said you went to another speakeasy.”

“You saw Harry this morning?” Liam asks, cocking his head to the side and tapping out a rhythm on the table with his fingers.

“Erm…” Louis starts, but he’s saved from coming up with an answer by Brad tumbling into the room with a bright smile and a sleep-deprived, sour-looking Zayn in tow.

“Morning!” Brad calls in an over-loud voice that makes Zayn grumble and wince as he slumps into a chair opposite Louis.

“Mate, we talked about this,” Zayn says in a rough voice, pulling his beanie down over his ears. “You’ve got to learn to be more chill in the mornings.”

“Sorry,” Brad says in an over-exaggerated whisper, widening his eyes at Louis across the table. “Morning, boss.”

“Hi, Brad,” Louis says, laughing under his breath and pressing his lips together to hide his smile as Zayn glares daggers from the other side of the table. “Do we want to wait for Harry and Niall or should we get started?”

“You’re in charge,” Liam shrugs. “I mostly just want to get this meeting done and get over there so I can meet the camera guys. I can’t believe network’s making us use locals for this show. I don’t trust them.”

“You’re a brilliant director,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows as he pulls his ipad into his lap and opens up a file detailing this week’s restaurant. “You’ll be fine. If we get renewed for a second series, they’ll let us pick our crew. They just didn’t want to splash out on a huge production budget before the show’d been tested.”

“Why didn’t they just do a pilot then?” Zayn asks, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Would’ve made more sense.”

“Maybe the merger made things weird,” Brad says, leaning his face against his hand and staring at the projection of Louis’ tablet screen on the wall. “Complicated personnel stuff and all.”

“Still though,” Liam says, looking a bit put out. “It would’ve made more sense. I don’t want to have to get to know a new camera crew in every city. This is the Food Network, not some string budget local news outlet.”

“If you must know, Liam, it was either this or we would’ve been staying in shitty motels with our handpicked camera crew and eating stale crisps and service station hot dogs for six months,” Louis tells him, sliding the budget report onto the screen as proof. “They didn’t give me a lot to work with. I had to make sacrifices. Instead you’ve got a king bed and a food budget that’ll let you eat pretty much wherever you want, so.”

“Don’t think the Iron Chef’s iron stomach could’ve handled half a year’s worth of microwaved taquitos,” Zayn says, the hint of a smile creeping through his mask of indifference, and Louis snorts out a laugh at the idea of what Harry’s face would have looked like if he’d been faced with the prospect of that much fast food.

“Well, I _like_ microwave taquitos,” Brad chimes in, leaning forward onto his elbows. “And you can’t even get them in England. I miss Mexican food, bros. I can’t eat more chicken tikka. I just can’t.”

“Did you just refer to us as a collective bro?” Zayn asks, arching an eyebrow in that way Louis knows he does when he’s trying too hard to hide amusement.

“We’ll get you a taquito, Brad,” Louis says distractedly, pulling up the itinerary for the day. “A taco even, if you can sit through the rest of this meeting without grumbling about curries.”

  


The restaurant they’re working with this week is a shitty little Greek taverna ironically located right in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen with a one-star average on Yelp and an owner whose application tape had been both completely bizarre and also sort of pitiful. Louis’d known immediately that the chef-owner Stan would make great TV, but walking through the front door of the place for the first time...even _he_ can tell that they’ve got their work cut out for them.

Harry and Niall are still in the cramped little trailer they’ve got set up outside, having final touches added to their faces and being fussed over by a girl who’s been determinedly struggling to place single strands of hair into the exact right position for the past half hour because Harry won’t stop ripping his fingers through his curls out of habit.

Louis had buzzed around for the first ten minutes of it, worried about keeping on schedule and wondering aloud – only half jokingly – if tying Harry’s hands behind his back or something would help the process along. He hadn’t even...he didn't mean anything _sexual_ by it, was honestly just thinking outloud, but Harry’s eyes had gone wide nonetheless, stiffening in his seat and shooting daggers at Louis from the stylist’s chair, sending him slinking away to find out what was going on inside.

But this...the place is grim, to say the least. Worn down tables and chairs that look like they’ve been in the place since 1960, cluttered wall decorations covered in a layer of dust and worringly-sticky parquet floors.

“Styles is gonna blow a gasket when he sees this place,” one of the camera guys mumbles, and Louis privately agrees.

  


“I can’t believe he actually thought it was normal that his hummus was chunky,” Harry says that night, blowing out a frustrated breath and hugging the cool metal pole as the subway doors ding shut behind them. “Even shop-bought hummus is smooth. He would’ve been better off buying a bargain tub of Sabra and passing it off as homemade.”

The train rattles to life just as Louis’ dropping himself down onto the plastic bench next to Zayn, and he glances up from his phone to give Harry a privately sympathetic look, crossing his ankles in front of him. The ride back to the hotel in the network-provided van had seemed to take forever after shooting wrapped for the day, Harry biting at his thumbnail agitatedly while Niall – who’d been the unfortunate one to discover the sorry state of Stan’s walk-in cooler, cameras zeroing in on his baffled, disgusted face – stuck his headphones firmly into his ears as soon as they climbed into the car and refused to speak to anyone as he tried to decompress.

It had taken Louis nearly an hour to coax even the hint of a genuine smile back onto Harry’s face once they’d made it back to the hotel and the group had separated to get ready for dinner. He’d dragged him into the bathroom and taken his clothes off piece by piece, pulled him into the shower and kissed his frown away, fingers gently massaging shampoo into his scalp and guiding his head under the stream of water to wash away the thick lacquer of too much hairspray, slippery-wet hands trailing over the smooth skin of his back, clutching at oven-scarred forearms as Harry pressed his back against the shower wall and nearly took his breath away with how he fucked him – rough and gasping with Louis’ legs wrapped around his waist.

He’d dropped to his knees after, pushed at Harry’s hips until he got him to turn around and brace himself against the wall, and Louis had sucked bright lovebites into the backs of his thighs and fingered him lazily until he shook through a second orgasm, Harry sinking his teeth into his own skin to keep himself from crying out through the shared wall with Brad’s bathroom.

“We got some good shots that we can cut together for the episode, though,” Liam offers, snapping Louis out of his thoughts and back to reality. “That one where you ate the stuffed grape leaves was like one of those youtube videos of babies trying lemons for the first time.”

“I love those videos,” Niall says from where he’s standing in front of Louis and hanging off the overhead bar. “I didn’t love the grape leaves, though. I swear he was using McDonald’s-grade beef in those. Bloody disgusting, honestly.”

“Count yourselves lucky that you lot only had to eat normal catered food for lunch,” Harry says, eyes flickering over Louis’ face as the train grinds to a halt at Prince Street and a flood of people clamber into the car. He shuffles closer, switching his hold to the overhead bar as a cluster of people crowd around his upright pole. “The ‘Stanakopita’was a fucking wreck.”

“We know,” Brad says, leaning closer into their huddle from where he’s standing. “You ranted about it for almost ten minutes before you dumped the plate in the trash. I’d never even heard of the stuff and I was mad at the chef for it by the time you were done.”

 _Chef_ , Harry mumbles, rolling his eyes and pulling a face like he’s offended by the very idea of his profession being connected to someone who considers frozen baklava to be just as good as fresh. Louis hides his smirk by pretending to study the subway map on the wall, watching the dark, dirty-looking walls of the tunnel speed by outside.

It’s not like the map would be any help to him at all, doesn’t know where they’re going or where they even are beyond the name of the restaurant Harry and Niall had decided they were eating at tonight. He’s basically just trusting that the two of them understand the web of tunnels and complicated letter-number system of the trains, because the rest of them are basically just following along. He could probably find his way around on the London Tube while drunk and blindfolded – has actually done exactly that once before off a bet from Zayn – but New York is a totally foreign city to him, makes absolutely no sense in its rush and bustle.

“Well, we’ve only got one more day of ‘before’ filming,” Louis says, eyes trained back on Harry’s face before he glances over to Niall. “And you’ll be in the kitchen half the day tomorrow anyway, so at least you won’t have to worry about getting your hair done again.”

“Harry’s got it easier’n I do for that,” Niall says, nudging Harry in the ribs as the train pulls to a stop again and people jostle them on their way in and out of the car. “You’d think not since it’s so long, but he started wearing it in this bun thing all the time while we were in Chicago. Just throws it up and forgets about it.”

Harry’s cheeks go slightly pink as he catches Louis’ eye through the tangle of strangers and their friends, rests his forehead against his extended arm and smiles, and Louis feels his heart do a somersault in his chest.

  


The restaurant Harry and Niall guide them to – one more subway stop and a head-turning four and a half blocks’ speedwalk through the East Village – is like a golden-lit beacon situated on a ground floor just off Park Avenue, and it doesn’t really make any sense at all, but Louis feels instantly at home as soon as they walk through the front door.

The slim, somewhat severe-looking hostess brightens and warms as soon as she catches sight of them, rushes over to grasp both of Harry’s hands in hers and leans forward to give him a kiss on each cheek, gives Niall the same treatment and wraps him in a hug, even lets him pick her up and twirl her around in a circle while she laughs and clutches at his shoulders helplessly.

“I had no idea you were even coming in tonight!” she exclaims once Niall has lowered her back to the ground, slapping Harry on the chest and patting her hair down with one perfectly-manicured hand. “I would’ve had Tom set the chef’s table if I’d known you’d be here. Who are your friends?”

“They’re the team we’re working with for that show I was telling you about last month when we were in town,” Niall says, glancing over his shoulder at the group of them. “Lads, this is Maria. She used to work with us at Harry’s place up in Lenox Hill.”

“Until she got lured downtown by mister Top Chef,” Harry adds, grinning at her and bouncing up onto the balls of his toes. “Is he in tonight, by the way? Wanted to say hi.”

“Yeah, he’s in the kitchen,” she says, making a vague motion over her shoulder. “Feel free to head back if you want while I grab everyone a table. Did you reserve under someone else’s name?”

“Should be under Tomlinson,” Harry says, taking a step closer to Louis and quietly sliding a hand over the small of his back. “And I’m actually gonna bring this one back with me, but go ahead and seat everyone else.”

“Yes chef,” she says in an exaggeratedly serious voice, giving a salute that makes Harry break and laugh, his fingers flexing against the back of Louis’ tucked-in dress shirt as she takes hold of a stack of menus and motions to the rest of their group. “Come on, guys.”

“You made a reservation under my name?” Louis asks, arching an eyebrow at him once everyone else has followed her off into the dining room. “When did you even do that? Before or after you were screaming it in the shower?”

“I’ve been screaming your name for a month now,” Harry says, bending to whisper into Louis’ ear and sending a line of sparks shooting down his spine as he tugs him closer. “Now c’mon. I want you to see what a proper kitchen is supposed to look like before we have to go back to Stanatopia tomorrow.”

“Stanopoulos,” Louis corrects, following along as Harry begins to guide him along the edge of the dining room toward a set of discrete double doors on the far wall. A waiter emerges just as they’re approaching, and he nearly drops his tray of food as his head swivels on his neck when he catches sight of Harry. “Are you sure I’m allowed back here? Aren’t restaurant kitchens supposed to be like...y’know, not for customers?”

“It’s rude _not_ to go back and say hello if you’re a chef eating in a restaurant,” Harry says distractedly, pushing the door open with one hand to reveal a blast of techno music that stands at a complete odds to the soothing atmosphere on the other side. Harry releases him and strides ahead confidently, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Even if you’re not like... _me_. Even if you’re just a regular chef no one’s ever heard of. It’s a whole weird thing. Chef etiquette. It’s kind of dumb, but we all play by the rules.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a chef,” Louis says in an undertone, scurrying forward and taking hold of Harry’s hand as another waiter rushes past. He’s very conscious of the fact that he’s trying hard to make himself look smaller so he doesn’t get called out for being so obviously out of place. They pass a row of stoves and ovens and a wave of heat, and he clutches tighter to the cool, familiar skin of Harry’s hand. He lowers his voice. “I’m just like...I don’t know anything about food. At all.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry says in a gentle voice, lacing their fingers together and giving Louis’ palm a reassuring squeeze. “We’re together. You’re allowed back here, I promise.” He gestures toward the cluster of young-looking men shouting at each other over the driving beat of the music. “This is the line. The guys here are called line cooks. They’re middle of the food chain, probably worked as dishwashers for a bit before getting promoted to prep cook. A prep cook basically just chops veg and makes salads and sauces and soup and everything else that no one wants to do.” He points to a kid who can’t be much older than sixteen, knife flying over a cutting board in a determined blur as he chops mushroom caps into perfectly-symmetrical slices and slides them into a steel basin.

“Then they get moved up to line cook, which is where they do a lot of the work during the actual service,” he continues, tugging Louis forward slightly. “Every line has stations. Veg, meat, fish, starters. See, this guy...what’s your name, mate?”

The guy who Harry’s pointing out glances up from where he’s sweating over an open-fire stove. “Mike,” he says, shaking two skillets back and forth at once. He looks over to Louis. “First time in a kitchen?”

“Sort of,” Louis says, mentally comparing the whirlwind of activity that exists behind this restaurant’s doors to the slow pace and sleepy mediocrity of Stan’s. “Sorry, I’m trying to stay out of the way.”

“No worries, man,” Mike says easily, squirting something into one of his pans that makes flames shoot nearly five feet into the air. Louis flinches, but Harry doesn’t even blink. “Any friend of Chef Styles is welcome back here.”

“I tried to tell him that,” Harry says, nudging Louis’ hip with his own as Louis flushes. “So Mike’s working starters tonight. Every job on the line is important, but his is crucial.” Louis watches as Mike smiles down at his pans. “Because if he fucks up the first course, the whole table has to get re-fired and everyone gets put off. So no pressure, Mike,” Harry says, and the cook lets out a gruff laugh, nodding his head. “An order comes in, and he has to get going straight away. Shell a dozen oysters, grill a quail breast, braise an octopus tentacle. Whatever.”

“Mike, get ready to braise some octopus,” Louis says, leaning into Harry’s side and watching as he throws oil and garlic into a new pan. “That’s the one thing that I know I like.”

Harry’s smile is oddly proud as he pulls Louis deeper into the kitchen, pointing toward two men in front of a pass-off window. “The guy to the right, that’s the sous chef,” he says in a quiet voice. “His job is basically to be the head chef’s second set of eyes. He’s got to make sure everything’s up to standard. Checks it all and acts as the head chef’s stand-in whenever he needs to. Also he gets down in the weeds when the line cooks are falling behind. He’s pretty much the most important person in the kitchen. That’s what I did when I worked with Gordon. It’s what Niall does now. ”

“And the other one’s the head chef?” Louis asks, eyeing the man on the left who’s shouting orders over his shoulder, plating pieces of food as they’re brought to him and bending over a dish to examine it carefully. “That’s you?”

“Basically,” Harry says, laughing softly and squeezing Louis’ hand again. “Whenever you call me during a dinner service, this is almost always what I’m up to. This is your peek behind the veil. Not as glamourous as it sounds, is it?”

“I think it’s brilliant,” Louis says honestly, glancing up at Harry. “It’s like...insane and chaotic and a bit ridiculous. And also sort of sweaty. But brilliant.”

“What _you_ do is brilliant,” Harry tells him. “You got to have like, a normal life and you went to uni and ate dry cracked spaghetti and you got to see your mum whenever you wanted. I took a job washing dishes ten years ago. Then I met Niall in Paris, and we’ve just been hopping around the world and working our way up ever since.”

“You do realise that’s the sort of life people dream about, right?” Louis asks, corners of his lips twitching up into a smile. “Travel, money, Paris.”

“We didn’t always have money,” Harry says seriously, frowning as he watches the chef in front of them. “We were like...absurdly poor for most of it. Barely scraping by and sharing cheap flats just so we could afford rent, sneaking food from our own restaurants so we could feed ourselves. The money didn’t really come until I opened my first place in London. And even then, we didn’t turn a profit for like a year or two because everything went to overhead and paying off investors.”

“Yet here you stand, in ready-to-wear YSL and six hundred-dollar shoes,” Louis says, giving him a once-over. “The American dream, or whatever.”

“Or whatever, exactly,” Harry says, shooting Louis a fond smile and urging him forward again. “C’mon, let’s go say hi so we can eat. I’m starving after a full day of Stanatopian Cuisine.”

  


“Have fun?” Niall asks when they finally make it to the table, his eyes tracking the motion of Louis pulling a chair out for Harry to sink into. “Was it everything you ever dreamed a kitchen could be?”

“It was like a rave with food and everyone was screaming at each other,” Louis laughs, glancing around at the prim, put-together faces of the customers in the dining room as he takes his own seat. “It’s like this lot don’t have any idea what’s going on behind that wall.”

“They don’t, and they never will if the restaurant’s running properly,” Harry says, leaning forward slightly to point out a man in the corner with a clipboard and headset. “That’s his job. He’s the dining room manager. He’s got to make sure his servers keep things running smooth and that the guests never know if something goes wrong behind the scenes.”

“What would go wrong, though?” Liam asks, following Harry’s eyeline and scanning his gaze around the room. “I feel like we’re seeing the gritty underworld or something. Niall was telling us about how much everyone knows each other after a few years in the game. Sounds like it gets messy.”

“It gets _so_ messy,” Niall says, eyes falling shut as he shakes his head. “You’ve got no idea. Like, you’d think, y’know, sixteen thousand restaurants in this city, you’re never gonna see the same people twice, but.” He pulls a face, taking a sip from the cocktail in front of him. “Once you’re up at the top, it’s really more like a couple hundred. If that. And when you’re talking _really_ at the top, the Michelins, the pack thins out to pretty much us and like seventy other places.”

“And all the same people working together back and forth between those seventy restaurants,” Harry adds, pushing his fingers into his temple even as the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile. “Niall dated the hostess from earlier a few years back, but she also dated the sous chef from here before they ever started working together.”

“Harry’s got an ex-girlfriend _and_ an ex-boyfriend who work Ripert’s line at Le Bernardin,” Niall says, nodding along. “Dining room full of billionaires in tuxedos and he goes to the back and gets a monkfish thrown at him.”

“Did that actually happen?” Zayn asks, letting out a surprised laugh as he glances between the two of them, leaning forward slightly on his elbows.

“Of course it didn’t,” Harry says, rolling his eyes and sliding a hand onto Louis’ knee under the table. “A monkfish weighs like...twenty kilos. It was a sea trout.”

Louis snorts a laugh into his hand at that, tries to hold it in when he sees Harry’s betrayed-looking face but only ends up laughing harder, the image of Harry dodging a whole raw fish in the bustling kitchen of one of the most exclusive restaurants in the country. But Harry’s laughing too, eyes sparkling in the golden light of the dining room, Brad launching into a story about one of his own crazy exes – the one who smashed a plate against a wall over a minor spat about the washing up – as unordered food begins to be delivered to their table, an array of salads to share and several of Mike’s grilled quail breasts and an extra-generous helping of braised octopus.

He feels his chest fill with fizzling warmth when Harry winks at him, still grinning, and squeezes his knee under the table before releasing him to reach out for the nearest tureen of food.

  


Tuesday morning dawns grey and cool, rain splashing against the windows of Louis’ room as if the London weather has finally caught up with him here in New York. He snuffles out a sleepy grunt and curls tighter around Harry’s back, burying his face in the wispy curls that stick out at the back of his neck and snuffling warm breaths into his skin as he feels Harry shift and begin to wake, big warm hand sliding down Louis’ forearm and lacing their fingers together over his chest.

“What time do we have to leave for Stan?” Harry asks after a long moment, his voice coming out as a deep, throaty rumble.

“Not ‘till noon,” Louis says, pressing his lips to the back of Harry’s shoulder and squeezing his fingers. “I think it’s around half-nine now.”

“But that’s so early,” Harry whines, rolling over in Louis’ arms and burrowing into his chest. “Don’t wanna get up. Lou, fix it.”

“What happened to your bonkers morning person philosophy?” Louis asks, skimming a hand over Harry’s back slowly, measuring his breaths and feeling out the divots of his spine with the pads of his fingers. “The one about sleeping in and not being excited about the day.”

“It’s still true,” Harry says stubbornly, hand slipping over Louis’ hip to tug him closer. “I have to deal with a whole service worth of Stan tonight. I have to watch him fuck things up and I’m not even allowed to help yet.” He cranes his neck back so he can stare up at Louis with bleary, puffy eyes, face all smushed on one side from his pillow. “Do you _know_ how hard it is for me to watch people fuck up food when I can’t do anything about it?”

“Is it really hard?” Louis asks widening his eyes slightly in affected sympathy as he tries to hide the amused smile that threatens to break out across his face. “I bet it’s really hard.”

“It is,” Harry tells him, frowning seriously. “It _is_ really hard, and you’re mocking me right now, but it’s still really hard.”

“Can you please stop saying hard while your morning wood is stabbing me in the hip?” Louis asks, breathing a laugh through his nose. “It’s making it...difficult to take you seriously.”

“You just pulled out your mental thesaurus, didn’t you?” Harry asks, his lips twitching up into a smile as he blinks innocently up at Louis, nudging their hips together under the sheets. “Just so you could avoid saying hard again? Was it hard for you to think of a word besides hard?”

“Keep it up and I’ll be chucking raw fish at you in no time,” Louis says, tugging at the bun on the back of Harry’s head. “Live ones, even, if you’re not careful.”

Harry just snuffles out a laugh, rolls until he’s perched up on top of Louis’ chest, hands pushing down against his shoulders and straddling his waist with thighs clenched tight around either side of his hips. “I never should’ve told you that,” he mutters, bending to lick at the skin of Louis’ collarbones. “You’re never going to let it die, are you?”

“I’m glad that you know me well enough by now that you know that you’ll probably never live it down,” Louis says, smiling as he flutters a hand up Harry’s back, winding through his curls under the tight knot of his bun. “I’ll tell the world if I have to.”

  


Dinner service _does_ turn out to be a disaster that night, after all. Even Louis, with his extremely limited knowledge of how a kitchen is meant to work, knows things are going to shit quicker than he can manage to come up with another synonym for hard.

The problem is...well, Stan’s already a wreck to begin with, bought the place off an ageing immigrant couple a few years back because it’d been a fixture in the neighbourhood for nearly five decades, and he’d apparently figured it would be easy to come in and take the place over. But owning and operating a restaurant – as Louis is starting to figure out from the twenty daily phone calls Harry puts in to his four locations and the perma-frown he’d worn over Skype when he was in Chicago and trying to get menus planned – it’s not an easy business at all.

So Stan is a wreck on any given day, but mostly and especially today, now that word’s got out around New York foodie circles that Chef Styles and his trusted right hand Chef Horan are in the kitchen. The place is fully booked for the first time in four years, overlapping reservations starting at 5PM sharp and continuing all the way to the last seating at 9, everyone clamouring at the door at the prospect of paying Stanopoulos prices for a triple Michelin-starred meal.

The only problem with that is, their shooting schedule is supposed to be confidential, so no one in the dining room has any idea that Harry and Niall are only meant to be observing Stan’s kitchen as it’s _been_ operating, neither of them allowed to jump in and help until the cameras have gotten at least a few good reels of footage of Harry screaming about something and Stan having a full breakdown, enough to make a total of probably about ten minutes of good TV in a 43-minute episode.

It’s barely five-thirty, basically, and the two overwhelmed waitresses – all that Stan can afford to employ – are nearly in tears in the toilets.

Louis pushes his way back into the kitchen to escape the chaos of the dining room, but it’s not much better back there. They have wall-mounted cameras set up to cut out some of the clutter of bodies, but even their limited camera crew is bulky, two men with shoulder rigs, a boom operator and Liam giving direction. Harry looks up at him wildly when he makes it through to the line, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Stan at the stove, fingers digging into his own arms to keep himself from fixing some small mistake he must have spotted while Niall lets out quiet, panicked sounds from his side.

“Please tell me you got what you need,” he says desperately, eyes searching Louis’ face. “Can I cook now? I can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m trying! It’s not like you could do any better,” Stan says from in front of him, and Harry makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and turns his back on him, facing Louis fully and raising his eyebrows.

“Please,” he repeats.

“We’ve got to keep shooting,” Louis tells him apologetically. There’s a huge part of him that wishes he could just give in to Harry, knows it’s killing him to stand here and watch Stan ruin lamb shank after lamb shank, but his hands are tied. They’ve both got a job to get done. “Throw a temper tantrum. Break a plate. Something, whatever. We need good shots, then you can jump in whenever you want.”

Harry gives him a steely look, mouth drawn down into a thin line while a muscle in his jaw twitches and flexes, exhaling angrily through his nose.

“I need you to leave, then,” he says finally, glancing back at Niall, who’s growing increasingly agitated over Stan’s shoulder. “I can’t like...I won’t do the angry chef bit with you standing right here next to me. Go watch on the monitors or something, but – ”

“Okay,” Louis says in a softer voice, cutting him off because he gets it, sort of. “I’ll disappear for a bit. Let you and Stan have your big moment. Don’t want it to be too hard for you.” The corners of Harry’s lips twitch up into the hint of a smile, and he glances down at his practical kitchen shoes, licking his lips in that way he does when he’s trying to keep a serious face on. “I’ll let you know when we’ve got our shots.”

Louis makes his way out of the kitchen, downstairs to the restaurant’s storage area where they’ve got their monitor bay set up, and Zayn glances up from where he’s been watching the screens, eyebrows raised in Louis’ direction as he turns the volume all the way down.

“What was that about then?” he asks, shooting Louis a smirk as he leans back in his rolling chair. “Is Wonder Boy getting a bit stressed in the kitchen?”

Louis falters in his tracks, opens his mouth and closes it again, pulling a guilty face as he slides into the chair next to Zayn, avoiding his eye.

“How did you figure it out?” he asks after a long moment, watching as Harry’s muted picture goes red in the face from whatever he’s screaming at Stan, dumping an entire pot of sauce into the bin next to the counter.

“I had an idea of it before,” Zayn says, arms behind his head as the image switches to Niall yelling at Stan’s single line cook. “But you two have literally been the least subtle since we got to New York.” Stan throws his hands up on the screen, drops his spatula onto the stove and storms off, and Louis feels a small buzz of relief run through him. “Everyone knows, by the way. Brad heard you two fucking in the shower the other day. Poor bastard.”

“Oh shove off,” Louis says, rolling his eyes, and he surprises himself when he realises that he doesn’t actually mind at all.

  


The service picks up soon after that, Louis radioing Brad from the monitor station to let him know they’ve finally got enough ‘before’ footage, and he watches Harry’s silent image on the screen, sees the exact moment when Brad tells him he can jump in. There’s still no sound to it, but it’s obvious in the way Harry’s shoulders go slack in relief, his mouth forming the words _thank god_ as he cracks his neck side to side and dives straight into working on the stove where Stan had left off.

Louis smiles to himself and shrugs away Zayn’s teasing jabs, and even by the time he makes it back up the stairs and through the swinging double doors five minutes later, the kitchen has started to turn out food like magic. It’s still not nearly up to Harry’s normal standard – he’s still working off Stan’s shitty, abysmal menu, after all – but the surly expression he’d been wearing earlier in the night has been replaced by a look of focused determination, pots and pans and grill trays flying around him seamlessly, half the time not even pausing to glance at the blur of his knife as he reads an incoming ticket over his shoulder to Niall, who seems to have kicked the other cook out of the kitchen as well, the two of them running things all on their own.

Louis hangs back by Liam’s side to keep out of the way, watches Harry move through the space of the tiny, cramped kitchen like it’s the most familiar thing in the world, like he’s completely at home even in Stan’s mess of a space. It’s like...like music or poetry in motion or something, totally mesmerising. He looks beautiful and fluid, cheeks flushed pink with the heat of the open fire to his left as he throws a handful of prawns into a skillet of oil and garlic, hopping back on reflex when a knife goes clattering to the floor and surging forward again without pause. It’s chaos and it’s mess and it seems like they’ll never see the end of it, but Harry looks like he’s having the time of his life.

The whirlwind of Harry and Niall goes on for nearly four hours before the orders stop flying in, and Harry slumps back against the counter opposite the stove, Niall by his side. They stare at each other silently for a long moment before they both break into breathless giggles at some shared, private joke, their shoulders knocking together where they stand, just barely managing to hold each other up as they survey the damage to the kitchen, dishes strewn absolutely everywhere and sauce on the floor, feta burnt and smoking where Harry had spilled the little metal basin of cheese over the griddle a half hour before.

Both of their chef jackets are completely covered in bright splotches food, and Harry’s got a bloodied wash rag wrapped around his forearm where he’d sliced himself open on a knife blade an hour into it – Louis had watched in slack-jawed surprise as Harry had pushed past him wordlessly, diving for Stan’s supply cupboard and ripping open a tube of superglue with his teeth, squeezing it out over the deep wound and jumping straight back in as if nothing had happened at all.

“I haven’t been on a line like that in years,” Harry says through his laughter just then, throwing an arm around Niall’s shoulders and knocking their sweaty foreheads together. “Just like the old days, yeah?”

“I need a fuckin’ drink,” Niall says by way of agreement, leaning into Harry’s side. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to work a kitchen without a full staff. Couldn’t do it every day, but…”

“But it was _fun_ ,” Harry laughs, finishing his sentence for him, his smile infectious as he takes another moment to catch his breath and finally pushes off the counter, scooping up a stack of dishes with his good arm and dropping them into the overloaded sink. “Okay, time to go have a heart to heart with Stan, then. Where’d he get off to?”

“Chain smoking in the alley,” Brad chimes in, adjusting his headset and motioning to one of the cameras to follow Harry back. “He was in here for a while watching, but then he disappeared to pout and rethink his life or something.”

  


Louis finds Harry in their hotel’s quiet lounge bar several hours later once shooting’s finally wrapped for the night and Harry’s finished having his arm stitched up by the paramedic that Louis had insisted on calling. They’d all separated for a while to their own rooms when they’d gotten back, in desperate need of showers and a bit of quiet in the immediate aftermath of the chaos of the night.

By the time Louis comes downstairs, Harry’s curled up in a squashy armchair in jeans and a too-big jumper with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, halfway through his second pint of Brooklyn Lager and poring over Stan’s account books while he picks absently at the edges of his bandage.

“You shouldn’t do that, you know,” Louis tells him, sinking into the chair next to him and propping his feet up on a footstool. “It pretty much defeats the entire point of having the bandage at all if you just peel it off straight away.”

Harry glances up from his papers, smiling at Louis over the rim of his pint glass. “This isn’t my first cut,” he says quietly. “Won’t be the last, either.”

“I know,” Louis says, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re missing half the tip of your ring finger and your hands are like sandpaper. Still, though.” Harry just rolls his eyes, but he also stops peeling at the edge of the white dressing, so Louis counts it as a win. He takes a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?” Harry asks, his smile faltering slightly as he sets his glass down, frowning in concern.

“It’s not bad,” Louis says quickly. “But it is important, sort of.” He rubs a hand over his face, tilting his head back to rest it against the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “They know about us. Like, everyone.”

“And that’s...not bad?” Harry says after a moment, and Louis can hear a smile growing in his voice. He rolls his head over so he can see his face. “Did you tell them?”

“No, of course not,” Louis says, picking his head up and sitting a bit straighter in his seat. “I would’ve told you if I was going to. They just like...figured it out. I guess we’ve not been as sneaky as we thought.”

“So they know that we’re dating,” Harry says again, his grin growing wider. “And you’re okay with it.”

“Are we? Dating?” Louis asks, cocking his head to the side and pressing his lips together to hide his smile. “I mean, we keep failing to go on any actual dates. The one that we did have, I was lured into it by deceit.”

“If you’re asking if I _want_ us to be dating, then the answer is yes,” Harry tells him, one dimple popping out. “I’d say we’ve passed the mark of casual hookup at this point.”

“Oh, so you thought this was more than just a booty call then?” Louis asks. “That’s awkward.”

“Well, I was gonna say friends with benefits, actually, but booty call works just as well,” Harry says, playing along even as he lets a bubbly little laugh slip out. “I take all my booty calls out for five star meals.”

“Knowing you, that might actually be true, so I’m not sure if you’re joking anymore or not,” Louis says, fond smile breaking free and crinkling up the edges of his eyes.

“D’you want to go upstairs?” Harry asks then, pushing his tongue into the corner of his cheek. “You know, for a booty call. Then we can platonically sleep next to each other and take advantage of more benefits in the morning.”

“Practical,” Louis says, nodding his head seriously. “Very practical. See, that’s why I like you. In a non-romantic way. Obviously.”

“Oh, right, obviously, yeah,” Harry echoes, screwing his face up into a put-on frown as he rises from his seat and reaches down to pull Louis up by his hand. “Just a pal.”

“Oi, watch it, _pal_ ,” Louis laughs. “I’m from Yorkshire. That’s a dirty fucking word where I come from.”

Harry just swats at his bum, and Louis scurries away, scrambling off into an unannounced race to the lifts, Harry squawking in surprise and gathering his papers up in one arm before following close on his heels, and Louis can’t even bring himself to care that they’re running through the halls of an expensive hotel like a couple of teenagers, because the warmth that’s threatening to burst through his chest makes it seem like the most natural thing in the world.

  


The next day is a whirlwind logistical nightmare that involves filming in three separate parts of the city, culminating with an on-camera romp through Chelsea Market with special attention given to Bowery Kitchen Supply, where Harry lights up like a kid in a candy shop, dragging Louis over to excitedly show him towers of spotless lobster pots and tubs of little gadgets that Louis wouldn’t even begin to know what to do with. Until Harry’s gently and repeatedly reminded that they’re supposed to be filming for the show, that is, then he starts forcing himself toward Niall or Stan or one of the other three members of the restaurant staff instead.

It’s still Louis who he widens his eyes at first, though, when he spots the wall of gleaming, razor-sharp knives – which, honestly, Louis finds a bit creepy even in spite of his amusement.

It’s Stanatopian remodel day, and instead of losing an entire day of filming while the network-hired design team tears the ancient decorations down and gets to work, they just basically shoot around it by taking the staff out for _A Day in the Life of Harry and Niall_ which, incidentally, involves pretty much nothing that Louis’ ever seen either Harry or Niall do at any point since knowing them but seems to include quite a lot of produce shopping in the East Village and heart-to-hearts in front of Battery Park’s picture-perfect view of the Statue of Liberty. The day is long, to say the least, and he’s more than relieved when he finally gets to call a wrap on shooting in the early afternoon, the crew sighing in relief before they’ve even fully powered down their cameras.

“Stan’s coming to dinner tonight,” Zayn tells him, pulling his headset off and stuffing it into its pouch, massaging his ear where it’s been bent out of shape all day. “Wonder Boy invited him. Said something about wanting to talk to him away from the cameras.”

“Really?” Louis asks, pulling a confused face as he powers down the string of monitors. “Where are we even going?”

“Some little place in Queens,” Zayn shrugs, winding cords around his arm and placing them into a case. “Niall says it’s chill, though, so. They have burgers.”

It _is_ chill, as it turns out. And they do have burgers. It’s a hidden little self-service grill just across the bridge in Long Island City, located behind a shady-looking warehouse with the most breathtaking view of the sunset over Manhattan that Louis would never have even imagined was possible.

“How do you even _find_ these places?” he asks in amazement, following Harry through a small door in a chain-link fence that opens onto the entirely-outdoor bar which seems to have sprung up from nowhere, cheerful yellow umbrellas flapping in the wind, and Harry just smiles.

  


“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Louis says on Friday morning as Harry pulls his little green convertible into a quiet alley just off Madison Avenue and starts pushing buttons on his spaceship console to power the thing down. “I hope you realise how much of a sacrifice this is for me.”

“Oh yes, you’re so hard up,” Harry huffs sarcastically, reaching behind him to pull two suit jackets from the back of the car. “Being dragged to eat a free lunch at the second highest-rated restaurant in the city.”

“See? I _am_ hard up,” Louis says, taking the offered jacket with perhaps more force than necessary and climbing out of the car to shrug it on. “If you’re going to force-feed me a cow’s face covered in orangey wine, the least you could do would be to take me to the _first_ highest-rated one.”

“Well, you’re _going_ to eat at the second one, because I absolutely refuse to cook anything in Daniel fucking Boulud’s kitchen,” Harry says, slamming his own car door and muttering something to himself about _one goddamn Zagat point_.

“When you’re done talking to yourself over there, would you mind explaining why I even have to wear this thing?” Louis asks, tugging at his collar. “It’s pretentious.”

“Because it’s jacket-required dining,” Harry tells him for probably the tenth time, locking the car with a jaunty beep and slinging his own jacket over his shoulder, other hand stuffed in the pocket of his tight black trousers. “It’s a rule.”

“Well, it’s a pretentious rule,” Louis says stubbornly, eyeing the smooth curve of Harry’s waist under his dress shirt. “And an unfair one. You look like a Saint Laurent model or something. I just look like a knob.”

“You don’t look like a knob,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “You look...fit, okay? You look really fucking fit in your pretentious jacket on your way to eat my pretentious food in my pretentious restaurant.”

“I know,” Louis says, planting his hands on his hips. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Unbelievable,” Harry says under his breath, shaking his head with his hand over his mouth as he turns to face the wall for a moment before spinning back around. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re trying to turn me into a bovine Hannibal Lecter,” Louis says, pursing his lips. “So who’s worse?”

Harry fishmouths at him for a moment, glancing around the alleyway and out at the bustling avenue to his right, letting his jacket droop from his shoulder and running a hand back through his hair. He shakes his head slightly, a small, frustrated laugh making its way through his lips.

“I can’t...did you just say _bovine Hannibal Lecter_?” he asks finally, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a reluctant smile. “Where did that even come from?”

“I’ve been sitting on that joke for nearly two weeks,” Louis tells him, cocking his hip to one side. “I’ve just been trying to find a time to work it in.”

Harry’s mask of stony annoyance cracks as he lets out a quiet laugh, smile growing on his face as he shakes his head at Louis. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, taking a step closer. “You’re absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

“Pretty sure you like it though,” Louis says, letting a small smile spread across his own face. “Like...a lot.”

“I do,” Harry says, scrunching his nose up and grabbing at Louis’ hip. “I do like it a lot. And I like you a lot, too.”

“ _And_ we just had our first fight,” Louis adds, craning his neck up to meet Harry’s eye. “Which I won, by the way.”

“Well, now you _are_ being a knob,” Harry tells him, but he’s still smiling. “Can we go please? I told Javier we’d be in at ten. I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, _Javier_ ,” Louis says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “We _mustn’t_ be late for Javier.”

“Stop it,” Harry laughs, releasing Louis’ hip to grab at his hand instead, pulling him out of the alley and into the street. “He’s married. With three children.”

Javier, as it turns out, is a cheerful, squat man in his early thirties who happens to arrive at the restaurant just as they’re crossing 70th Street and coming up on the gleaming chrome façade, and Harry releases Louis’ hand to bound forward and wrap him in a gangly, full-bodied hug, the two of them laughing together and picking up a conversation in rapid-fire Spanish as Louis comes up behind them.

“And this is Louis,” Harry says, switching to English seamlessly when he feels Louis’ presence at his shoulder, turning to grin down at him. “Louis, this is Javier.”

“Louis? Are you French, Louis?” Javier asks, extending his hand.

“No, not at all,” Louis admits, returning the handshake and laughing. “I’m as English as they come. Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s the opposite of disappointing,” Javier says, clasping the back of Louis’ hand with his other. “I think if chef brought one more Frenchman into this restaurant, we’d have to rename it _Henri_.”

Harry’s eyes fall closed as he smiles embarrassedly, shaking his head. “He’s talking about people who work here,” he says as Louis raises his eyebrows. “There’s a lot of French kitchen staff. That’s all he means. You’re killing me over here, Javier.”

“Ah, you know I’m just busting your balls, man,” Javier says, pulling a small ring of keys from the pocket of his pristine white chef jacket, jingling them around until he finds the right one and moves to unlock the front door of the restaurant. He glances over his shoulder at Louis. “You’re the first person he’s ever brought in to cook for. Must be pretty special.”

“He was reluctant at first,” Harry says, eyeing Louis up and down with a smirk and bouncing up onto the balls of his toes. “He’s not afraid to say no to me, that’s for sure.”

“¿Es tu novio?” Javier asks in a quiet voice as he and Harry push the double doors open together, striding into the restaurant side by side. “Porque me gusta.”

“Todavía no estoy seguro,” Harry says, glancing over his shoulder at Louis with a wink, “pero me gusta también.”

Louis smiles back, not really sure what’s going on beyond vaguely understanding the words _me gusta_ as meaning something good, and he turns to stare back into the dark, cavernous space of the restaurant as Javier says something else in Spanish, laughs and claps Harry on the shoulder and disappears back toward the kitchen with a wave over his shoulder.

“Am I really the first person you’ve brought here?” Louis asks once he’s gone, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the gleaming marble of the entryway. “Like...ever?”

“Yep,” Harry says, letting the word pop on his lips as he scratches a hand back through his hair and pulls himself up to sit on the long counter of the host stand, kicking his feet. “I don’t do this for just anyone. This is like...pretty much every food person’s wet dream right now.”

“And I complained,” Louis says, pulling a face.

“Yeah.”

He reaches up to lace his fingers around the back of his own neck, elbows sticking out at odd angles as he takes a step forward then back, blowing a breath out through his lips. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, letting his arms swing back down to his sides. “I suck. And I’m a knob.”

Harry breathes a laugh through his nose, shaking his head with a genuine smile spreading across his face. “‘S alright. You’ll find a way to make it up to me,” he says, biting his lip. He gives Louis an excited look, suddenly looking much more, well, much more like an actual twenty-five year old, as he turns and swings his legs over to the other side of the desk. “D’you want to see what the place is supposed to look like?”

“Let there be light,” Louis says, turning to face the dining room with his hands shoved in his pockets as Harry bends to press a series of buttons.

It’s like...well, it’s sort of like nothing Louis’ ever seen before, if he’s honest. The irregular chandeliers – made of wispy strands of glass tangled together into abstract clusters – blaze to life, flooding the large dining room with soft yellow light, the pure white of the marble entry giving way to artfully-worn hardwood. The tables are draped in crisp white linen, and the dining chairs are covered in a thick brown suede that makes Louis want to sink into them and never get up.

The thing is, he’s started to grow somewhat accustomed to eating in fairly upscale places since meeting Harry, and he’d...he’d _known_ that Harry’s calibre of cooking was on a whole other level, but this. He gets it now. He gets the hype. Without even trying the food at all, he gets why someone would be willing to lay down six hundred dollars for a two-person meal, understands why – out of only a hundred-seven restaurants in the entire world – Harry holds one of the coveted three-star spots.

“Do you like it?” Harry asks, coming to stand behind him and lacing strong arms around his waist, resting his chin on Louis’ shoulder as Louis leans back against his chest.

Louis looks up at him, watches the light flashing in his eyes, and knows that the flutter in his stomach has almost nothing to do with the decor.

“It’s perfect.”

And Louis’ still not _used_ to this, not used to everyone knowing they’re together and not used to being given the chance to see Harry move through a space as comfortably as he moves in a kitchen, not used to the private things that Harry whispers to him in the soft pauses between gasping breaths or the side of him that only Louis and none of the rest of the world gets to see. He’s not used to being personally guided through a restaurant where people reserve tables months in advance, and he’s _definitely_ not used to the full feeling in his chest every time he catches Harry’s eye.

He’s not used to any of it, basically, but he can’t imagine wanting to miss even a second of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from [you always make me smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grnkCPxdTdU) by kyle andrews
> 
> im on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> also [THIS](http://dafnedive.tumblr.com/post/127019619132/yamms) amazing fic rec by [dafnedive](http://dafnedive.tumblr.com) omg


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